Just One More Wednesday
by lifewithdaleks
Summary: Six months without a word from the Doctor, and Clara has begun to move on. When he comes back asking for a second chance, however, she takes it, knowing that it might just be her last adventure. Things take a turn for the worse when they run into one of Clara's echoes and all too familiar villain in 1946 New York. (Post-Trenzalore)
1. Chapter 1

She stared into her reflection in the puddle of water at her feet, hot tears of anger and frustration mixing with the freezing rain falling over London. Her once straight hair had gone curly, and hung limply around her shoulders. She felt water slosh in her boots as she fidgeted on the park bench. Annoyingly, her knees began to tremble and her teeth began to chatter.

Off to the side, lying in a similar puddle was a broken mass of metal and red nylon: her umbrella.

Her earlier argument with the Doctor still rang in her ears, stuck on repeat like a broken record. Every time it started over again, her fury grew.

The TARDIS noise begun to sound behind her, and she jumped to her feet. How had he found her?

"Clara!"

She ran, not knowing where she was running to, only who she was running away from. She sprinted past befuddled pedestrians, and crossed the street without looking both ways.

The screeching of rubber, violent honking, and muffled shouts startled her, but she just kept running.

For once, she was running _away_ from him.

"Clara! Please!"

Her heart pounded inside her chest, clenching painfully as she turned another corner. It was his hand wrapping around the sole heart, digging its fingernails in, making her see red as she crossed yet another street without bothering to look both ways.

She made it through alive, but the sound of honking behind her only meant he was still determined to catch her.

Turning her head, she saw him, his purple coat flapping out behind him, his hair plastered back onto his skull, her name on his lips.

_"I died, Doctor. One thousand times," she whispered, "For you."_

_"I didn't ask you to do that," he'd protested, and at her enraged look hastily corrected himself,"Though I'm grateful that you did! Clara, why are you so mad at me?"_

_"Because its been six months for me!" she'd shouted, "Six months of absolute hell, and you haven't been here for me! You left me just like they all did!" _

_His befuddlement quickly turned into anger, "And do you think its easy for me to know that I have caused you so much pain? Do you think I… __**like**__ it? I don't, so quit being stupid because I've suffered too. But that doesn't mean I stop going."_

_"Stupid?!" Clara spluttered, "If I'm so stupid then I really shouldn't travel with you anymore. Maybe you should find some less stupid girl and take her away in your stupid box instead!" _

_"Clara.." _

_"GET OUT!"_

_"No wait! Clara, please!"_

_After that, she had slammed the door in his face, gotten her umbrella, and ran to the park using the house's back door as a means of escape._

_Only when she opened her umbrella did she remember that it was the one the TARDIS had "accidentally" torn a hole into more than six months earlier._

Clara turned into an alley, breathing heavily, her clothes more wet than ever.

She found a decent hiding place behind some old crates, rested her back against a brick wall and let out a choked cry. Her hands quickly stifled the animal like sounds escaping from the back of her throat.

Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Let her live out her life like she'd begun to after the second month, when it became clear he wasn't going to come back.

His silhouette appeared in the entrance to the alleyway, and her heart broke when she saw the tears streaming down his face. His entire body shook with sorrow filled sobs until he was bent over like an old man with his hands over his eyes.

Suddenly, he lashed out at the brick wall with his fist. It came away bloodied, and she heard him curse in Gallifreyan.

She inhaled sharply, and he turned to where she was hiding.

A flicker of something old and incredibly tired came over his eyes, and it looked like he was going to make for the crates.

He knew she was there.

"I'm sorry," he said, "For everything that I have done to make your life a living hell. I'm so, so sorry."

He choked, "I was silly… leaving you here all on your own… I was wrong. I just wanted you to be safe. I still do. I've done a rubbish job of it, I know. Angie told me you've been screaming in your sleep."

Clara wept into her hands, listening to his voice come closer.

"You don't have to do this alone, Clara, let me help you. Let me back in, please."

She shook her head.

"Clara, my hearts are shattered because of what I have done to you. Please. Please. Don't leave me alone. I've already lost so many of the people I love, please don't make me lose you too."

She turned her bloodshot eyes on him, "I've lost mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, and children." She took in another shaky breath, "All I had was you, and you left me. So tell me Doctor, how am I supposed to trust you ever again?"

She could see several answers coming together in that brilliant mind of his, but none seemed to meet his criteria, for he didn't speak again for several seconds.

"Let me show you," he said quietly, "Give me one day to show you that you're the only thing that matters to me right now. That I-"

He gulped, and outstretched his hand to her, "Just one more Wednesday, Clara. After that, if you still want to, you can leave me. And I promise-No, I swear, that our paths will never cross again if that's what you want."

Ever so timidly, her small hand fell into his, and he pulled her up.

Not meeting his eyes, she tucked a rogue curl behind her ear, "Fine."

For the first time in six months, she saw him smile.


	2. Chapter 2

The TARDIS was as welcoming as ever, Clara noted, holding her hand up to stop the blue door from smacking her in the face.

A series of lights flickered as she entered the console room, giving voice to the TARDIS' blatant displeasure at having the impossible girl back within her walls.

In spite of Clara's best efforts, she could not help but feel happiness bubbling within her at the sight of the console room with all its silver panels, and its greenish-blue light. She had after all come to believe that she would never see it again.

"Eugh," she heard the Doctor say, an absurd hint of delight in his voice, "We're all wet!"

She rolled her eyes, "Thank you for stating the obvious, Doctor. I completely forgot."

"Well, we are," he said, clearly missing the sarcasm in her words, "Your mascara's run down the sides of your cheeks, your eyeliner has smudged, and ooh you look like a raccoon!"

Clara's mouth opened in indignation, and he quickly waved his arms, "A pretty raccoon! Very pretty! I didn't mean...oh bollocks-!"

His own hand clapped over his mouth, "Did I just say that?"

"Never mind your potty mouth," she said, unable to keep herself from smiling, "How do we get dry? I reckon you've got some towels lying around somewhere in your snogbox."

An angry hum came from the console.

"Hush, sexy," he said, keeping his eyes on Clara so that she flushed beneath his glare.

She looked away.

After a few seconds in which he murmured some inaudible words to his machine, he continued, "I'm glad you mentioned it though, because while I do have towels," he paused, "Somewhere in here. I actually installed a new feature into the console room last week in which a strong current of air blasts from the ceiling and dries the place in less than thirty seconds."

Clara raised an eyebrow, "Why exactly?"

"I was bored," he moaned, and then shot her a worried glance.

She didn't meet his eyes.

_If you were that bored why didn't you come for me? Why did you leave me all alone? Why did you let me wake up screaming every single damn night? Why didn't you come back sooner?_

She suddenly found herself unable to be in his presence any longer.

"If its all the same to you, Doctor...," she began quietly, looking down at her wet boots, "I think I'll just go change in the wardrobe room. I think I remember there being towels in there."

She turned to exit the console room, her heart heavy, and then remembered exactly what she was doing, "Date and Location?"

He looked at her, a tiny smile on his lips, "October, 1946. New York City, Earth."

Clara nodded, but stopped dead in her tracks once more, "You remembered?"

He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously, "Of course. You told me you wanted to go to the mid-twentieth century after we visited New Earth. You said that everything was way too perfect and clean for your taste."

Impressed at his memory, she gave him a slight smile then left, praying that the route to the wardrobe room had stayed the same.

The TARDIS must have been feeling just a tiny bit merciful, for while she did have to turn around a couple of times, in the end, she made it.

Of all the rooms in the TARDIS, this was the one she loved most (library not included.)

It was huge, about the size of a department store, and was organized into three separate floors. The first was for men's clothes, and the second and third for women's apparel. From there as far as Clara could tell, the only organization between clothes was: tops, bottoms, dresses, and erm, underthings.

She found a fluffy white towel lying on one of the seats, and dried herself off before stripping down.

Quickly pulling on some dry things, she looked around the place for 1940s appropriate clothes.

Twenty minutes passed and still nothing remotely close to 1940's New York appeared, although she did find a Greek toga, a strangely familiar red dress from the Victorian Era, and a gorgeous teal coat that fell below her knees and had apparently been made for a woman much taller than her.

"Any help from you would be greatly appreciated," she said out loud, pulling a long strand of flaming orange hair from the teal coat and letting it drift to the floor.

She hung the coat back with a sigh.

When she turned back around, something on the love seat caught her eyes.

She smiled widely, "Oh, you are just full of surprises."

* * *

At first, he wasn't really bothered by the amount of time Clara was taking to change, but soon ten minutes turned into twenty, twenty into thirty, and then he was running out of things to tinker with.

He'd long since dried himself thanks to the new feature he'd built into the TARDIS, but once half an hour had passed, he decided to go up to the wardrobe and change into some more time appropriate things too.

In the end he opted to wear what he wore when he traveled with the Ponds.

Fingering the familiar light brown tweed, he looked at himself in the mirror. He grinned, straightening his maroon bow tie. Pulling on his suspenders, he posed.

"I like it," a voice said.

"Clara!" He yelped as the suspenders slapped back onto his chest, "Blimey, you scared me."

"Sorry," she muttered, soft brown curls bouncing as she put on an earring.

"How do I look?"

"Yowzah," he breathed, eyes wide.

It was an appropriate description, he thought, gulping hastily, and looking at her up and down.

Her makeup had been re-applied, along with a coat of (and he didn't usually say this to describe anybody but the TARDIS) incredibly _sexy_ red lipstick. Her hair had been done so that it fell in a cascade of soft brown ringlets, and her dress... Yowzah, indeed.

Powder blue with white polka dots and a sweetheart neckline; it was as though it were made for her.

"What was that," she asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Tearing his eyes from her, the Doctor told her she looked lovely, and then exited the room at a brisk pace.

"Oi, hold on!"

He skidded to a stop in the console room and she ran into his back.

"Doctor! Ow!"

Turning around, he made to take her hand, but she purposely pulled it behind her back.

The rejection hurt, but he knew her reasons were valid, and pretended not to notice.

"Clara Oswald," he said pushing the door open, and walking out into an alley, "Welcome to-"

He was about to say the Big Apple, but just then a gunshot rang out, and somewhere close by a man's shout was heard.

Just like old times, Clara thought bitterly.

** A/N: For anyone wondering, the coat belonged to Amy Pond in Vincent and the Doctor :) **


	3. Chapter 3

The alley smelled of salt and the pungent odor of garbage. Clara's eyes actually watered when she stepped out. She knew New York smelled bad, she just never knew quite how bad. A crisp breeze blew over her face, drying her lips. She shivered.

Another shot was fired, the sound echoing up the two walls. The Doctor's right arm barred Clara from moving forward.

Frantic whimpering, and the sound of skin coming in contact with skin made Clara wince.

"He's a tall guy, her husband-"

A scream.

"You promised me real information, not dimestore descriptions. Tell me who she's with, and what she's wearing or next time my aim ain't gonna be so careless- Hey! Hey buddy!"

Clara felt the Doctor tense. The man seemed to be shouting at them.

"Scram! This ain't any of your business!"

His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he took a couple steps back.

"Are ya deaf? Get out of here!"

She caught sight of large man with a fat nose advancing on them with a gun. Next thing she knew, they were running.

Her palms were suddenly sweating profusely, making the Doctor's hand slick.

There was another gunshot, and Clara felt adrenaline kick in, making her legs work twice as fast.

They stopped after crossing two streets, both breathing heavily and leaning against each other.

"Okay," she said, dropping the Doctor's hand to clutch at her chest, "That wasn't even ten seconds into the trip and already we're being threatened by some loony."

"That's New York City for you," he said, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it around her shoulders before she could protest, "You're just lucky we didn't visit during the seventies, that was a bad decade here."

She immediately took his tweed off, shoving it roughly into his arms and making him stagger back a couple steps in bewilderment.

He didn't get to be all knight-and-shining-armor. He didn't deserve that privilege. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm not cold," she said dismissively.

It was obvious from the goosebumps on her arms that she was cold, but wearing his jacket meant letting him back into her heart.

And Clara Oswald was no pushover.

She believed in friendships based on trust, and she'd lost almost every bit of faith in the Doctor since he'd left. Almost. She still had that same urge to travel as she'd had before Trenzalore, so when he offered her one last day, how on earth was she supposed to say no?

Of course she also had questions for him, the main one being: If his only reason for abandoning her was to keep her safe, then why did he come back? The Doctor was hiding something, that much she knew, but then again he was always hiding something. Be it something as irrelevant as the fact that he accidentally added too much sugar to her tea, or something as major as the fact that he'd seen her _die_ not once but _twice_ before meeting the real her.

"Are you sure," he asked, looking very serious.

"Yeah I don't need your rubbish grandpa jacket to keep me warm, I'm perfectly fine. Just let's go wherever you wanted to take me so that I can go home."

There was a burning at the backs of her eyes, a burning she's become familiar with in the last couple of months.

"Clara...," he began, "I know you're hurt, and you have all the reasons in the universe to be, but I promise you I had my reasons for staying away... And I have my reasons for coming back. The thing is, it looks like this is going to be the last day together, and I want it to be a good day."

She was silent, and stared determinedly at a spot on his chest for the longest time before asking again, "What's your plan?"

He did something unexpected next, something that filled her with such warmth that she thought she might melt into a puddle right there on the sidewalk. Stepping forward, he placed both his hands on either side of her face and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

She had grown unused to such touches, so the action startled her. When he smiled however, (damn him and his smile) it suddenly became okay.

She smiled back, granted it was only the merest upturning of her lips, but it was a smile.

"I'm going to take you," he said, leading her across another street.

Clara caught hints of saltwater and frying food, but she didn't know if it was getting closer, or if she was just focusing on it. The Big Apple was a city of many smells, many of them unpleasant.

"... to Coney Island in its Golden Age."

She smiled, not even feeling the chill breeze anymore.

He leaned close to whisper in her ear, "You're lucky I brought you in October. July crowds," he shuddered melodramatically, "Not good. And the nudity in the summer months! Simply horrifying!"

Clara giggled, "I had no idea you were such a prude, Doctor."

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth, "Me!? A prude?! I'll have you know I've been married many times in my life, I've done... You know... Those things."

"What? You mean sex," Clara asked, walking past a concession stand and suddenly getting a craving for chocolate.

The vendor smiled at them.

She looked toward the Doctor pleadingly, and he grinned mischievously, "Yes, that's what I mean. Would you like some sweets, Mrs. Smith?"

Raising an eyebrow she nodded, "Very much, Mr. Smith."

He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his hands on her tummy.

She looked at him questioningly, but he didn't pay attention, he was too busy speaking to the vendor.

"We need to give the little one whatever he wants or mummy gets grouchy," he said, making a big show of rubbing his hands up and down her stomach.

"Two of the yellow bars please my good man!"

Clara went red at what he was implying.

The vendor beamed at her, "My wife is the same right now, don't be ashamed dearie."

Her smile was saccharine sweet as she took her chocolate from him, "I doubt... _the baby_ would be as troublesome if he weren't so much like his father."

The Doctor payed with a couple dimes, and they strolled off together giggling madly.

When they were far enough away from the vendor, she punched him in the arm.

"You..are..unbelievable!"

Every word was punctuated by a blow.

"That was for calling me a prude," he said, nibbling on the corner.

She rolled her eyes, "You are such a baby!"

"Am not! I happen to be over a thousand years old!"

"Do something to prove that you're not a baby then!" She said lightly.

"Why should I?"

Hooking a hand under one of his suspenders, she pulled on it until it could stretch no further.

"I am going to let go," she said firmly.

He waved his arms, "No, Clara it'll hurt!"

She rose up on her tiptoes, stepping closer to him, and leaning into his personal space.

"I dare you," she sighed against his lips, enjoying the violent shade of red his face was turning.

It wasn't that she wanted to flirt with him, she just somehow ended up doing it anyway. It had been their thing, she realized, to prod and to tease and to flirt and to save each other. But it had also been their thing to push away the moment their walls came down a smidge too far. Perhaps that's why he'd left, she thought, because after Trenzalore he'd probably realized that she knew him better than anyone ever had. But if that was the case, then the question was still in the air: Why come back?

"You. Ferris Wheel. With me," he stuttered.

She sank back down, "What?"

"Ride the Ferris Wheel with me?"

"That isn't scary," she said.

"You wait until you're at the top!"

Neither of them noticed a man with a fat nose looking around the park with beady eyes.

From a jacket pocket he withdrew an expensive looking cigar. He lit it, and once again returned his attention to the crowds of people around him.

He had two targets; they weren't going to get away.

**Review? :)**


	4. Chapter 4

For Clara, amusement parks were things of commonplace. After all, she had grown up in 1990's Blackpool. Roller coasters, carousels, and dark rides all took her back to that blissfully ignorant life she'd led before turning sixteen. They reminded her of a time when living meant just that: going out with friends, kissing boys on dares, and watching romantic comedies with her mum whilst her father worked the night shift. They took her back to a time where she didn't have to worry about her two charges being safe, keeping up her looks, or dying when she was off with the Doctor.

All this she thought of as their car on the Ferris wheel left the ground and slowly began to rise. Well, at least that was what she was thinking of until the car began to move forward on the metal structure. There was a loud clang and a jolt.

Her panic alarms went off, and she gripped the Doctor's arm, digging her fingernails into his skin as the car jerked alarmingly once more.

"It's supposed to do that," she heard him say gently, "We got into one of the sliding cars remember?"

With two spots of pink color appearing high in her cheeks, Clara nodded and quickly apologized.

"So? Fun or not?"

"Scary, more like," she said haughtily, feeling agitated.

"Chocolate?" he offered.

She gave him a pointed look, raising her half eaten Mr. Goodbar from her lap.

He shrugged, plucking off a piece and throwing it through the holes of the metal car.

Promptly, a seagull snatched it out of the air.

She put her hands over his, pushing the chocolate down firmly back into his lap.

"Don't do that! Birds shouldn't eat chocolate. Any non-human animals are really susceptible to being poisoned by that stuff."

The Doctor leaned forward in his seat, looking around for the seagull.

"Oops," he said.

Her hands tightened around his as the car slid once more and there was the harsh sound of metal coming in contact with metal.

"How'd you know that," he asked, keeping his voice neutral, "As far as I know the Maitlands don't have a pet."

Their car was empty aside from themselves so Clara knew it was safe to talk about space and other impossible things.

She pulled her hands away from his.

"I know you know how I know," she said.

"That's a lot of knowing," he said, flinching at her steely expression.

They were at the top now, more than a hundred feet off the ground, looking at each other in a tension filled silence penetrated only by the sound of cold wind whistling through the holes of their car, the squawking of gulls, and the screeching laughter of children far below.

"Why don't we play a game, Doctor," she said, her gaze flicking between him and her lap, gauging for his reaction to such a vague question.

"O-kay! What game?"

She thought for a moment.

"We'll call it question and answer for two reasons : lack of creativity, and the splitting headache I've suddenly contracted that contributes to my current lack of creativity."

Clara winced as another pang ripped through her skull. The headache was sudden. Usually she only got them after a morning of managing the Maitlands', but those weren't nearly as painful as this one. Headaches weren't supposed to trouble her this late in the day. It was strange.

"How do we play," he asked, obviously desperate to please her.

"I ask you a question, and you answer, you ask me a question and I answer. We take turns until everyone knows what they need to know."

It was clear the Doctor didn't like the game from the way he fidgeted in his seat and avoided her intense stares.

"Can't we play 'I Spy?' It's a lovely game, much better than erm- Question and Answer."

Clara sighed exasperatedly, getting out of her seat when an employee opened their car door and told them the ride was over.

The Doctor jumped out first, and then before Clara could process what he was doing, his hands were firmly gripping her waist, lifting her out of the car, and back onto steady ground.

Flustered, she patted his chest thankfully with both hands. Without thinking, she let her hands rest there, feeling his double heartbeat.

She raised her eyes and met his. Both seemed to have words on the tips of their tongues, but neither of them seemed ready to say them. They examined each other, keeping eye contact for what most would consider an inappropriate amount of time.

Clara swallowed, and at last stepped back, looking around the park as though the autumn crowds were the most interesting thing in the world to her.

Thrilled screaming caught her attention for the first time, and she tried not to start when the Doctor's arm came around her waist.

What the hell was wrong with her? This was normal. He used to always touch her when they were away on journeys. It was just his way of showing affection to his friends. So why was she getting so flustered now? It made no sense.

"I dare you to ride that with me," he said, pointing to the wooden roller coaster and rocking back and forth excitedly on his feet.

Clara sighed. This was just like him. Always changing the subject before she could get any answers. She wanted to know so much, and she could tell that he wanted to know what she'd been doing with her life, but whether or not either of them got the information they wanted all depended on whether he was willing to cooperate.

She huffed in irritation as he started pulling her by the hand toward the ride.

Digging, her heels into the ground, she made it difficult for him to keep going.

"Clara," he whined, "Come on!"

"No," she said firmly, "Doctor, I want answers, and I want them now. The last six months of my life have been spent as me being haunted by images I see in my sleep. As if that wasn't enough, other people have begun to notice me acting out of sorts and my dad actually asked me if I wanted to visit a psychiatrist the other day! They think I'm a loony, and you don't even have the decency to tell me why! Why, Doctor? Why don't the nightmares stop?"

His guilt tripled, gnawing painfully at his insides and making him want to throw up for the first time since he'd seen her die in Victorian London.

He closed his eyes, seeing her Victorian counterpart's happy expression at receiving a TARDIS key. He saw her eyes fill with tears, because somehow, deep inside she had known that she would never get to use it. Then he saw her being pulled away by the ice lady onto the edge of the cloud where for a moment time went by slower. Clara's eyes met his, impossibly wide and full of terror. He'd forgotten how to breath. And then she fell. And his hearts all but died. She had been perfect. Feisty, kind, and best of all she was going to travel with him. He wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

He opened his eyes and saw her again, looking at him desperately, tired of not knowing.

Pulling her tightly against him, he lifted her feet off of the ground, and buried his cold nose in the crook of her neck.

He felt her tense, and uncertainly pat him on the back, "Doctor?"

Her voice was a whisper; the question behind it, a scream.

"Let's ride the roller coaster, and the moment we get off, we can go to a diner in the city, and cross my hearts I'll tell you everything then. How does that sound?" he asked.

"Fine," she breathed, "But Doctor, you're crushing me."

"Sorry," he said, hastily putting her down and brushing invisible dust off her shoulders.

She barely had time to give him a small smile before he was pulling her once again toward the small line for the Cyclone.

She looked up at the wooden structure with some trepidation.

"Nobody has-nobody has died on the coaster, right," she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

The Doctor chuckled nervously, "Not yet."

"That's not reassuring," she hissed.

"Don't stand up during the ride, and...," he turned around to speak to the young couple behind them, "Whatever you do, do NOT sit in the last car. I still have some nasty bruises from doing that."

The handsome young man nodded distractedly, but had his eyes set on the woman wearing a large, floppy red hat beside him.

Clara felt something tug at her when she saw the woman: déjà vu, perhaps?

She tried to disregard the feeling as the Doctor helped her into the first car, but it only grew exponentially as they began moving up the first rise.

She'd done this before.

The Doctor held her hand through the duration of the ride, sensing that something was wrong with her.

She was having trouble keeping her eyes open, and her headache pain just kept getting worse.

The only thing other than the Doctor's hand that she was acutely aware of was something red flying into the air from behind her and floating down onto the sidewalk below them.

When the ride ended, the Doctor half-carried, half-walked her out.

She did not respond when he asked if she was alright. Her mind was too focused on something else.

A red hat on the sidewalk had caught her attention. The woman's hat.

Quickly pulling herself from his arms, she walked forward and bent down to pick it up.

At the same time another small pair of hands caught hold of the hat.

Frightened wasn't enough if a word to explain what Clara was feeling. She was beyond terrified, and was bordering on petrified.

She raised her eyes, and caught sight of a strangely familiar face.

Only when the woman spoke did she realize why.

She was her. The woman was Clara.

"My parents never told me I had a twin sister," the woman breathed. She held out a hand, "I'm Oswin Oswald-Taylor, and who might I ask, are you?"

**A/N: The amount of rewrites for this chapter was astronomical. Happy to hear that you all are enjoying it so far, I'm afraid to disappoint you all with upcoming chapters! Review? :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Clara emitted a little squeak of shock.

The woman could have been her reflection in the mirror. They had the same height, the same girth, the same eyes, the same nose, the same _everything_ if she wanted to be accurate. They were even wearing the same clothes for Christ's sake!

Damn TARDIS.

Tilting her head as though Clara were a puzzle, Oswin opened her mouth, "Je m'appelle Oswin Oswald-Taylor. Comment t'appelles-tu?"

"Clara," she said, her eyes wide as saucers, her hand reaching out to grip the Doctor around his left elbow. She pulled him forward, tightening her grip around the brown tweed of his coat, and forcing herself not to go wince when Oswin's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"This...this is my..."

"Husband," the Doctor said firmly, "John Smith."

Oswin beamed, still looking a bit flummoxed by his mere presence, "You're English too! That's wonderful isn't it Matthew?" She patted the upper arm of the tall man beside her, and with a smile to Clara added, "My husband."

The young man still had his eyes glued to Clara, taking in every inch of her before shifting his eyes to Oswin and doing the same.

It was as if he were looking for a difference in the two women, and Clara could tell by the way his hands were at his were at his temples, that he wasn't being met with any success.

"Darling," he said, blue eyes clouding with suspicion, "Your father doesn't seem the type to hide a thing such as this."

Clara found herself feeling oddly emotional under the scrutiny of this man; she supposed it was because at one point or another he had been her husband.

Flashes of snuggling up against him in silken sheets, walking through Central Park with his hand in hers, and sitting in a cold, blank doctor's office bloomed in her minds eye. Strong and sharp, the onslaught of foreign emotion was enough to make her sway.

With a barely audible whimper, she staggered back into the Doctor's chest.

The Doctor gripped her by the elbows, repeating her name over and over again in an alarmed voice.

"Is she alright," Oswin asked, and Clara felt another throb of pain pulse through her cranium.

"No," the Doctor said, his voice cracking slightly, "No, she isn't. I need to get her home. This isn't good for her."

Their voices were funny, Clara thought, they sounded as though she were hearing them from the wrong end of a tunnel.

She slumped further against the Doctor.

Eyelids fluttering, she let out a cry as another stream of images, stronger this time, took over her mind.

Clara felt tears begin to burn at the backs of her eyes. Her hands tightened into fists, and her strength waned as she tried to fight off the unforgiving visions.

A light hand fell onto her forehead, a hand much to light to belong to the Doctor.

"Matthew, she's burning up! Fetch the driver. Mister Smith, please come with us to our apartment, she can rest there," Oswin said, her voice firm as though what she said was not up for discussion. She was clearly used to getting her way, and the Doctor knew that the TARDIS was much too far a walk for Clara in this condition. Reluctantly, he accepted her offer.

Matthew shot Clara and the Doctor a wary look before heeding his wife's request and sprinting away to find the driver.

Just then, Clara's legs gave way, and she became a deadweight to the Doctor.

"Has this happened before," Oswin asked, her wide brown eyes showing concern for her look-a-like as the Doctor slid one arm under Clara's knees and the other under her back in order to carry her.

"I don't know," the Doctor muttered, looking down at his impossible girl with guilt.

"But you're her husband, shouldn't you know about these things? Husbands are supposed to be there for their wives just as their wives are there for them. They're supposed to know what's going on with their women. And vice-versa."

Oswin's tone was unforgiving, so much so that it made his heart clench. He looked away from Clara and took a moment to take in Oswin.

Small red lips were twisted into a frown, her arms were dappled with goosebumps and hugged her body in a poor attempt to keep warm. A gorgeous wedding ring was proudly on display on her left hand, and she wore flat shoes.

He frowned at that. Women of her time usually wore heels over stockings. Especially in the colder months. He looked at her face, accusing and just a little bit angry. As though he were offending her rather than Clara. Though technically he was offending her; she _was_ Clara.

It was all very, very complicated.

"Does Matthew know what's going on in your life," he asked quietly.

Oswin's eyes flickered with fear, and her face visibly drained of color.

The Doctor held her gaze for a couple seconds, saying nothing because he was now certain she was hiding something, and he wasn't sure he could trust himself not to offend her with his guesses.

Matthew interrupted their tense silence, bringing news that the car was waiting just outside the park.

She placed her red hat onto her head, making sure her face was out of view, and marched after her husband.

The Doctor followed the taller man, keeping his eyes on Oswin.

She was in danger just by being near him, and he'd already lost Clara too many times to lose her again.

He was determined to keep her safe. All of her. Even her echoes, which he could only assume was what Oswin Oswald-Taylor was.

But if she was here, then where was the danger? Where was the Great Intelligence?

He pulled Clara closer to him, feeling her cheek press up against chest and into the slightly scratchy tweed of his jacket. She murmured his name in her sleep, her hands moving from his chest to her stomach, resting comfortably there.

He looked around at the park, looking for any hints of danger but finding nothing that particularly screamed death aside from the roller coaster they'd ridden earlier.

He carefully lowered Clara into the backseat before climbing in behind her.

If there was any danger, he thought, his expression settling into one of determination, there was no way he was going to let it hurt his Clara.

The car started and they drove off.

Behind them, a dark car started up, and slowly began to follow.

**A/N: I apologize for the short chapter, but I've been swamped with papers, projects, and quizzes (oh my!) all week. Because of this unprecedented onslaught of work, and the fact that this work will not stop until the next holiday, my updates will (unfortunately) be less frequent than you all have come to expect from me.  
Thank you for reading, for being faithful to this story, and hopefully the next chapter will be up in about a week or so :) **


	6. Chapter 6

The limestone clad apartment complex was at corner of East Street and Park Avenue. Tall and intimidating, the building rose out of the ground like a monument to the wealthy.

A man in a faultless maroon uniform complete with golden epaulets opened the car doors for them, his pale face pink from the brisk wind gusting through New York City. He offered to help the Doctor with Clara, but the timelord firmly declined, suspicious of everything and everyone he interacted with.

He clutched Clara closer to him, taking great care not to hit her head as he got out of the car.

The boy running the elevator was quite flustered at the sight of Clara lying unconscious in the Doctor's arms, but asked no questions, and quickly took them to the top floor. When Oswin took off her hat, it took the entirety of the Doctor's willpower not to guffaw at the elevator boy's face as he quickly saw the identicalness between Clara and Oswin.

"Good day to you, Tommy," Oswin said, her voice innocent.

Glancing sideways at Matthew, the Doctor noticed the tall man's lips parted into an amused, but affectionate grin. He might have been a tiny bit uptight, but there was no doubt in the Doctor's mind that Matthew loved his wife.

The elevator boy flushed, tipping his hat before lowering the elevator and disappearing from sight.

Adjusting Clara in his arms, the Doctor beckoned for the couple to get a move on, to which Oswin rolled her eyes, and Matthew huffed.

Walking into the Taylors' penthouse, he was instantly in awe of the serious amount of thought that went behind the interior design of their home.

The main living room was enormous, complete with what he was sure was hand carved wooden furniture and beautiful art on the walls. A huge chandelier full of dazzling crystals hung from the ceiling, little light bulbs fracturing hundreds of rainbows onto the walls of the penthouse.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Matthew asked proudly, and the Doctor turned around to say yes.

"It's worth your weight in pounds. As is almost everything in this place, so I implore you not to break anything. "

Oswin disentangled herself from her husband's arms and beckoned for the Doctor to follow her.

"Ignore my husband," she said, the expression in her eyes not matching the lightness of her voice, "And he'll do the same to you."

Matthew blushed to his very roots, his mouth open, his hands in fists by his sides.

"I cannot read your mind Oswin, much as I would sometimes like to. When will you ever tell me what's wrong?"

More than a little miffed, the young woman spun on her heel to face him.

She looked him in the eyes, her hands on her hips, her expression almost pleading.

"If you cared you would already have noticed," she said coldly when his mind remained blank,"I am going to show my sister and her husband to the guest room so that she can recuperate, and so that he can watch over her in private."

With a bemused expression on his handsome face, Matthew was left alone to try to find some sort of explanation for his wife's strange moods.

He looked to the Doctor for help, a question on his features.

The Doctor shrugged, uncertain as to why Oswin was giving her husband the cold shoulder, but more interested in _his_ Clara's sudden sleep murmurs.

"Simeon. No. Doctor. I'm-."

Abruptly, her body seized up, face crinkling into an expression of utmost pain. Her arms tightened around her middle, and a tear squeezed itself from the corner of her right eye.

Leading him away from the living room, past an equally extravagant kitchen, and a gymnasium, Oswin showed them to a graciously large guest bedroom with a king sized bed in the middle and a floor to ceiling view of the city.

"Feel free to spend the rest of the day here," she said softly, not wanting to wake Clara up, "But in a couple hours we're having a couple of guests over for dinner, and I'd really appreciate it if-"

"We would be gone by then?" the Doctor offered, trying to be helpful.

Oswin crossed her arms over her chest, one eyebrow raised cockily, "You didn't even let me finish."

He waved his hand for her to continue, and with a voice overflowing with amusement, she did.

"I would be grateful if you and Clara would stay for dinner," she said, smiling cheekily.

They stared at each other evenly, neither speaking, but communication being done all the same.

"I'll come by at sick thirty to help you two get ready," she said, turning around to leave.

The Doctor watched her go, an ache in his chest. She was going to die. That was her purpose.

The ache turned into a tangible pain when she reappeared in the doorway, "Good Lord you look familiar! Are you sure we haven't met before? At my doctor's office maybe? Or at one of my father's kitchen supply factories in England?"

He shrugged, not saying yes, but not saying no.

"Why would I have met you at a doctor's office," he asked, trying to avoid her other question.

Her eyes grew soft, sharply contrasting from the sassy woman she'd been only seconds earlier.

"We've been trying for a child, Matthew and I, but until recently we've been unsuccessful," she smiled nervously, one hand on her stomach. Her smile, however, quickly changed into a worried frown, "I don't know if Matthew's ready for this child, though. He loves me, but he's so focused on things of material value like the company he's set to inherit, the company I already own… I don't… Is it really fair to bring a child into the world when its father's heart isn't truly ready for it?"

The Doctor froze.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

She blushed, "Oh. Blimey, this is not an appropriate topic for two strangers now is it?"

Bad. Bad. Bad.

"With this whole sister surprise, I figure there's no better time than now to come clean.. I'm planning on telling him tonight," she said quietly, color appearing high on her cheeks, "So would you mind keeping it a secret until then?"

He forced himself to smile, but on the inside it was all: bad, bad, bad.

"Good," she said turning around, "Well, goodbye now."

Perhaps not all the echoes had to die saving him, he thought hopefully, watching her retreating figure until it turned the corner and disappeared from view. Perhaps some of them saved him in other ways. Emotionally? Spiritually? From a bad hot dog?

He liked those thoughts more than the other one.

_Oh damn_.

Oswin was pregnant.

He looked down at Clara, still fitfully sleeping in his arms, and gulped. He'd done it again. He'd put her in danger, and now there was more at stake than there had ever been. What had he been thinking, coming back to her? It was wrong.

He'd meant to stop traveling with her altogether. Not because he didn't enjoy her company, because he did more than that. He treasured it. The only problem was that she wasn't safe. If something were to happen to her out on their travels... If she were to somehow die... His head had bent down at the very thought. He'd never bounce back. He would never recover from that loss.

With the resolution never to return firmly in place, he had left Clara, the very idea of going back to her forbidden.

In his separation from her he'd even taken aboard a young Rednowian named Ecila after finding her in a dark alley, near death, with purple blood dripping from her wounds. She'd left him after a while, an angry, but sad look in her burning amber eyes. It was her final words to him that made him pull the toggle switch and enter Clara's coordinates again.

"Doctor, I know you like me," Ecila had said, her cheeks flushing purple, "Not in the same way I like you. But at the very least you like me, and because of that I pray that you will heed my next words: find her. The one you love. Go back to her. You deserve some happiness."

Of course he'd denied it. Love? Him? Clara?! There was no way.

Putting her down of the soft duvet of the bed, the Doctor worked on getting off her heels.

He tickled the underside of her foot on an impulse, and groaned when the foot kicked out and caught him in the stomach.

After recovering his composure, he pulled the covers onto her.

Satisfied with his work, he took off his shoes, crawled onto the bed on all fours and sat down next to her, his back against the headboard, his eyes trained on her ever changing expression.

He watched her turn toward him in her sleep, almost as if on instinct.

"Don't know who I am," she murmured, "Save the Doctor."

Sleepy for the first time in months, he lied down. Not under the covers, but on top of them. Clara wouldn't like waking up under the covers with the man she'd come to hate. No, being under the covers had to be crossing some sort of line, he thought drowsily. He turned onto his side, and watched Clara sleep until he couldn't anymore.

Almost unfeelingly, he thought about what Oswin and Matthew would be serving for dinner, how their guests would look like, and briefly, how Oswin would tell Matthew her bit of _news_.

Slowly, his mind drifted off and his eyelids slid shut, his last thought being that Clara really did have a funny nose.

"Adorable," he muttered.

And then he was asleep.

* * *

Clara awoke with the Doctor half of top of her, his arms around her waist, his nose pressed into the side of her neck, and one of his legs between both of her own

She had to pause for a moment to confirm that they were both still wearing clothes, a fact that eased her worries considerably.

Her mouth opened, his name leaving her lips in an ragged whisper.

When there was no response from him, she tried to squirm her way out from under him, but her attempt to escape was foiled when his arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him.

He shifted so that he was completely on top of her.

Clara whimpered involuntarily when his hips rocked slightly against hers in an attempt to get comfortable.

"Doctor," she squeaked, hearing him murmur her name and begin to press feather soft kisses to her neck.

"Miss you, Clara," he murmured, pressing himself further into her.

She groaned, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

"Doctor!" she said.

"Hrrm," he said, and then he was raising his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes like a newborn puppy.

Slowly, he became aware of her wide eyes and red face just a couple of inches beneath his own. Every inch of her body was pressed up against him, and of this he was all too aware of.

"Clara," he yelped, jerking in surprise, and eliciting yet another tortured moan from her.

"For God's sake, would you get off of me!" she gasped.

He did as she said, and Clara found that she could once again breathe.

"What's going on," she demanded, sitting up and avoiding his eyes, "Where are we? Did I just meet myself? Why are we in bed together? Oh my god, we haven't, erm mated have we? What do Timelords call it? But we haven't right? Please tell me we haven't, I've got plans next Friday with..."

Distractedly, he put his index finger over her lips, "No we haven't... you know, and yes that is yourself that you met. We're in bed together because they think we're husband and wife, but I could have sworn I went to sleep above the covers... Wait, a date?"

"Doctor where are we?" she asked, avoiding the question.

"Oswin's house," he said, "She's invited us to stay for dinner. What's this about a date?"

"And are we going to stay for dinner" she asked, feeling frightened but not sure why.

"Well, it would be rude not to," the Doctor said, rubbing his face, "So who's the fellow you're going on a date with? Is he dangerous? He might be am alien."

Clara pushed herself up onto her elbow, peering up at him curiously,"That is none of your business. Hey! I don't remember my dreams. I can't remember what happened to Oswin Taylor. I never forget my echo dreams, but I've forgotten about these."

The Doctor sighed, pulling her head forward to give it a kiss.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Clara asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

_Well, you're pregnant, but not really you-you, more like a part of you, and this part of you is supposed to save me, and there's a pretty high chance she's going to die doing it. Oh yeah, and we don't know what form the danger is in quite yet. But besides all that, no, there's not much else_.

Just then a knock on the door was heard; Oswin's voice rang out from the other side.

"Time for dinner. There's no dessert I'm afraid. I've burned the bloody soufflé again."

** A/N: I hate not being able to write for as long as I want. If you all could leave a review, that would be very much appreciated :)**


	7. Chapter 7

Mrs. Anne Ross bore a striking resemblance to a flamingo: she was tall, beady eyed, and had so much rouge on her cheeks that it was almost impossible to tell whether or not she was blushing.

The guise of a saccharine sweet neighbor hid a deceptive and nasty woman who under normal circumstances Clara could never, ever be friends with. These, unfortunately for her, were _not_ normal circumstances.

She lifted her glass of champagne from the kitchen table, forcing herself to down half of it in one gulp. The alcohol burned the back of her throat and continued to burn on the way down, bringing tears to her eyes.

It hadn't done much to cheer her up in spite of Matthew's assurances that it was one of the best brands in the world.

It may have been dry, but the champagne was a much appreciated excuse not to speak to Mrs. Ross. Or as Clara had begun to call her, the flamingo woman.

"In what year were you born again, sweetheart?"

"Nineteen twenty," Clara said, doing the math as quickly as possible, "One?"

"Do you not know?" Mrs. Ross asked innocently.

Clara's fingers tightened around her glass; she shrugged her shoulders.

"And you Oswin?" The woman asked, not looking away from Clara who unconsciously bit the inside of her cheek.

If Oswin was the same age as her, and the year was 1946, then 1921 would be the correct year of their birth, wouldn't it? Unless something had gone wrong in her calculations...Or if Oswin wasn't twenty-five...

The timer rang before Oswin answered.

"1921," she said, getting out of her chair and pulling a couple of dishrags from one of the drawers.

"Remarkable," Mrs. Ross said, but something about the way she said it made the fair hairs on Clara's arms stand up.

After putting the pie down on the counter, Oswin bent over to pull a tub of cream from the icebox.

A wave of pain crashed through Clara's head. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

"I remember you telling me something about how at first your father hadn't wanted children... And how your mother hid her condition until it became obvious. Wouldn't it be horrible to have to do that, Oswin? To hide your pregnancy from Matthew until the size of your stomach did all the talking for you?"

The flamingo woman's tone was light, but prying. Clara eyed Mrs. Ross over the rim of her champagne glass, uneasy both from the sudden head pain, and what she was sure was a sensitive topic to talk about for Oswin.

She saw the muscles in Oswin's shoulders tense, and not for the first time was struck by how odd it was to see herself outside of a reflection. It was like seeing the world from another person's point of view. More than forty years before you were even born.

Oswin pushed a knife through the pie's soft outer crust, and began slicing it into eighths. Her posture was rigid, and when she turned around her again she looked close to tears.

"Hey?" Clara asked, slipping off her chair, "You okay?"

Her voice faded toward the end when she saw that Oswin was shaking her head gently, glancing between her and the ever curious Mrs. Ross.

Arms outstretching, Clara found herself giving Oswin a hug. Her echo tensed, but gradually hugged back, letting out a tiny choked sound into Clara's shoulder.

"Is there something wrong," Clara whispered, "You can trust me, I promise."

There was an almost imperceptible sniffle, and Clara thought she heard Oswin mumble something before pulling away looking perfectly normal and composed.

"Let's take this to the boys. Perhaps it will sweeten up their pathetic male egos. Your poor husband has gotten nothing but grief from and Matthew, and I am determined to change that.."

The sudden shift in emotion startled Clara into silence.

Mutely following her echo up a wooden staircase, she caught sight of the Doctor beneath Matthew who had her 'husband' in a choke hold.

To the side, Mr. Ross, a short and stout man with a thick blonde mustache, drunk whiskey from a glass.

"Oi!" Clara cried, running past Oswin and toward the heap of limbs, "Get off of him! Leave him alone! What's going... What's..."

Laughter rung in her ears, the cackling of Mrs. Ross from behind, and the low chortling of the men from ahead.

Her face burned with embarrassment as Matthew released the Doctor and in a genuine display of camaraderie, held out his hand to help the Doctor up.

"I'm alright, Clara!" he said, "We were just wrestling! Matthew was just teaching me how to- ow!"

"You arse!" she said, reeling back to punch him again in the arm, "I thought he was hurting you!"

His tweedless arms enveloped her, strong and reassuring.

She could feel the vibrations of his laughter on her cheek as he pulled her tight against him.

"I'm alright you," he said lowly, kissing her hair.

Clara pushed herself away from him, only slightly placated. It had hurt her to see him getting hurt, and that fact frightened her. It meant all the shields she'd put up in his six month absence had come down as though they'd never been there in the first place. She still needed him to explain himself, but with the whole Oswin debacle, Christ knew when she'd be able to get her answers.

When the last of the chuckles died down, Oswin raised the pie again, to which there were many 'yes, pleases.'

The cherry pie was warm and sweet and everything pie should've been but in Clara's day never was. They sat down on cushioned chairs on the roof, relishing their dessert, and enjoying the view of New York from up so high.

"My dear, you excel at everything you do," Matthew said after finishing his slice, bending over sideways to place a lingering kiss on Oswin's cheek.

A hesitant smile tugged at Oswin's lips, "I've got something... I've got something you need to know, darling. Something you all need to know."

Clara looked up from her pie, feeling the dull pain in her head begin to grow. A hand fell on her arm, gripping it tightly. She heard the Doctor mutter her name. It was a command: 'Brace yourself.'

"I'm going to have a baby," Oswin said, her voice just above a whisper, "I'm pregnant. Almost three months."

There was the screeching sound of a chair dragging across the floor as Matthew stood up.

He looked at Oswin with an expression similar to being hit over the head with a hammer.

"You're?" He motioned to her stomach, and she nodded.

A strangled sound that might have been a laugh came from him, and them he sprang forward and captured Oswin's lips in a passionate kiss that made Clara smile in spite of her growing panic.

The guest couple burst into simultaneous 'that's wonderfuls,' when the two finally broke apart.

"Clara?" The Doctor asked.

"Congratulations," she said to the loving couple, staggering out of her chair, and running back into the apartment.

"Clara?!" She heard from behind her.

Anger. Fear. Shock.

The emotions ran circles around her head, making her dizzy.

She jabbed at the elevator button vigorously, calling it up.

The darn thing wasn't fast enough. She needed to get out of the building. She needed fresh air. She needed her feet to be firmly on the ground. Not in the clouds.

Head spinning, Clara darted into the elevator the second it opened. She ordered the man to take her down, and he obeyed without question.

"Clara?!" she heard from above.

She closed her eyes, and stepped into the peaceful lobby with trembling knees.

"Miss Taylor, are you quite alright," the manager asked.

"Fine," she squeaked, before breaking into a run once more and barreling through the lobby doors.

She breathed in and out, filling her lungs with the stench of New York City.

It was fully dark out, and the only lights came from the occasional car and the trolley already fading in the distance.

"Stars," Clara murmured, "She's knocked up."

"Clara?"

_Him_.

"Why did you come back," she shouted, spinning around, "And why six months? You have a time machine, you could've come back the next day and I wouldn't be the wiser, but you chose to come back six months later. Why?"

"Honesty," he responded, "It would have been wrong. It would've felt wrong."

"But why," she asked, "Why did you come back? Hell! Why did you leave?"

At his pleading expression, she pointed up at the building, "I'm going to die. And this time-this time it won't just be me... Doctor, that's an innocent child! That's _my_ child... I've condemned my own child just by coming here with you."

"If you hadn't come, that child wouldn't exist," he protested.

The thought hadn't crossed her mind before, but now that it had, her strength left her.

Her head dropped in defeat, but when the Doctor tried to hug her she pushed him away.

The street had gone quiet; Clara was at a loss for words until the most perfect idea sprung into her head.

"Take me home," she said.

His entire body tensed at her words.

"What?"

She sighed, ignoring the sudden rumble of of an engine.

"If we leave now maybe there's a chance that Oswin can be saved."

"I don't think-" he began.

The car engine rumbled again, and the sound of screeching tires filled the air.

Unconsciously, she stepped closer to the Doctor.

The car in question came to a loud stop just in front of the building.

Two burly men jumped from inside, their faces shrouded in shadow by black fedoras. They walked like giants, their steps heavy and menacing. Each of them had a gun in their left hand.

Her pulse quickened, "What's happenin'?"

The man on the right raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

Clara gasped as something lodged itself in the area just below her ribs. There was no sensation. Just a dull throbbing that abruptly turned into a harsh roar. She heard the Doctor shout her name before the entire world dissolved into pain. Her knees gave way, but not before her fingers plucked a bright feathered dart from her stomach.

Beside her, the Doctor fell with a thump.

A deep voice spoke next, "Hurry. Let's get them into the car and give them the antidote. Don't wanna be too late like with the last ones. Bloodstains don't get out of carpet real easy. And from what Ross just told the boss... This one's pregnant."

Clara closed her eyes.

**A/N: I am drained from the week, and I stayed up so late writing this that when I began editing in the morning half of it was mumbojumbo. Maybe we can get to fifty reviews by the next chapter? Maybe? Am I being too hopeful? :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Her mind vaguely registered the acrid smell of car exhaust and stale cigars.

She turned onto her back, disoriented by the stuffiness of the place she was in. She tried to bring her hands up to touch her head, but found that they were both tied up. Worse still, when she tried to shout for help she found her voice muffled by a gag.

A strong pulse of pain of stunned Clara into stillness.

Her fingers fumbled for the origin, grazing over the thin fabric of her dress until they found a large, sticky wet spot covering almost half of her midsection.

How had one tiny dart done this?

She breathed in and out through her nose, a salty tang filling her mouth. Shaking her head in the darkness, she forced herself not to panic. Panic was not good. Panic was counterproductive. The important thing was to not panic.

Instead, she focused on what she knew about the situation.

Before being shot, she'd...shouted at the Doctor.

Her top teeth found the skin of her bottom lip, and her eyes slid shut, giving her a different, more private type of darkness. It had been selfish of her to run from the dinner, and extremely stupid of her to confront him about his absence out in the open. Especially when she knew danger flocked to the Doctor like Angie to a trendy store at the shopping mall.

_Of course_ something bad was going to happen to them.

Her head went back to the men. They had said the name Ross. As in: Mr. and Mrs. Ross.

Clara's hands tightened into fists over her stomach. The flamingo woman and her no good, whiskey drinking husband had somehow told the two men who shot at her and the Doctor that Oswin was pregnant. She had no idea how they managed to do it, or who 'the boss' was, but when she remembered the greedy look in one of the man's eyes as they spoke of her 'condition,' all thoughts of advanced technology in the wrong time period disappeared.

The two men must have not yet been told about the whole 'twin' thing when they'd said that. She _knew_ she was not pregnant. They were obviously talking about Oswin.

That prompted the question: What did these people want from Oswin and her husband? And why did a baby make them look so excited?

_Husband_

Her eyes widened slightly, and she couldn't help the panic that filled her now.

The Doctor! Where was he? Was he alright?

She squirmed in the darkness of the car trunk, until her shoulder brushed up against a solid, tweed covered mass. A cold, _unmoving_ tweed covered mass.

Shaking her head firmly, she brought her bloodstained fists from the wound under her left breast to try to find his face.

Another pulse of agonizing heat ran up her body.

She groaned into her gag, unable to keep it in.

The mass of tweed jerked upward, and she heard the sound of a head coming in contact with metal.

"Umf- urg-ra? C-ra?!"

Incredibly weakened, she sank back onto the floor of the trunk. He was alive.

_Clara?_

She began panting. Why was it hard to breathe?

_Clara are you alright?_

How was he doing that? How was he in her head?!

The only logical conclusion she had was that she must have finally gone bonkers. Blood loss and being split into a thousand different versions did that to a girl.

_Oi! No you haven't! It's me! The Doctor! I have a gag, so this is the only way I can speak to you. You can speak back, just try!_

_Hurts_, she said back.

_What?_

_It hurts,_ she said, slightly angry now, _I'm burning._

A pause.

_They gave us both the antidote, I saw it before going under, _he said, but she could hear the doubt in his voice.

_I don't think it worked, Doctor._

She wanted him out. Out of her head. He'd taken over everywhere else, but her thoughts were supposed to be private.

And they would stay that way.

Her jaw set, and she forced herself to remembered Gallifrey.

The images bloomed like bright colored peonies in her mind's eye, one after the other, crashing into each other like waves.

She was lying in the scarlet grass with her long hair free from its normal plait. A lazy smile broke her face as she looked up at the burning amber sky. Both suns were up, casting a warm glow on her in spite of the chill that kept other Gallifreyans indoors. A boy lay by her side, her little brother.

"They'll force a regeneration on you, Closwin," he said, sounding worried, "And then they'll exile you! And I'll be all alone."

She sat up, eyebrows raising, " Cratz. I helped get rid of a rubbish TARDIS. It's not like I threw Rassilon into a supernova. Trust me, I was doing the people of Gallifrey a favor."

The boy tore at the grass to distract himself, some of the natural red pigment coming off and getting under his fingernails. In his thin chest, two hearts pounded.

"I don't want you to go fight the Daleks," he said, his brown hair falling into his eyes as he began to tear the grass more frantically.

She slid one hand under his chin and gently tilted it up to look into his eyes.

"I've been alive for seventy-two years," she said, "Thirty of which, I've spent making TARDIS' more awesome. It's my passion, so I'm not going anywhere, and you mister will never be alone."

Cratz only continued to rip the grass.

She kept her word, hacking into the transmitter that had recorded her offense, and deleting the recording before ambling off to lunch the next day.

Years passed. Cratz grew up, and visited her less and less, having gotten his own TARDIS.

There was a period of ten years where she didn't hear a peep from him other than the fact that he'd taken on a queen from one planet as his companion. But when the queen died, he came back to Closwin with his desire to travel gone and the ambition to become a TARDIS engineer burning bright.

The memories shifted to the day she died, high up on the cliffs by the sea, three Daleks advancing on her with their raucous cries of hate.

Cratz lay behind the giant pepper pots, his blood mingling with the red grass, his dark eyes staring blankly up at the burning sky.

Three electrical currents hit her at the same time, stopping her hearts, and making her take a step too far back on the cliff. She saw the suns in the sky, one red, one orange, and watched them turn purple as she hit the water and let herself sink to the bottom of the sea.

A shudder ran through Clara's chest as she forced the images away, and a fat tear dribbled down the side of her face.

She heard no sound from the Doctor for a very long time.

* * *

When she next woke up, she was on a hard medical bed in a large white room. Her tongue felt heavy and dry, her eyes burned, and there was a dull throb in her abdomen. A thin, white robe covered her body.

She felt weak. And tired too. She wondered if she would ever stop feeling tired.

Elbow digging into the mattress, she forced herself up into a sitting position, startled when she saw the Doctor sitting at the far end of the bed.

"Hulo," she croaked, and then half-joking added, "Who died?"

"That isn't funny," he said, after a moment of just looking at her, "Really, it isn't. Don't even joke about something like that."

"I will," she said, "because you're not the boss of me."

"Clara-."

"No," she said, "No more words. You're not really my husband and even if you were, you still wouldn't be the boss of me, because I run my life, not you. You're arrogant, cruel, and selfish, but you do these things like take a girl to see the stars, and you make her happy, and then it's all okay. But it's not because I'm the girl you abandoned, and I'm the one who's gotten hurt, and it's not very nice at all."

"I know," he said, his shoulders hunching, "I know. I owe you a reason."

"Yeah, you really do," she said, and took a deep breath to drive away the light headedness that plagued her.

"I want you to know that I came back because I missed you," he said, "More than fish fingers and custard, more than Gallifrey, more than anything in the Universe, I missed you. I was weak, and I needed you by my side. I needed to see your face as I showed you the sunrise on Neptune, or the best casinos in 1970's Las Vegas. I needed— I need you."

Without permission, her dry lips parted into a smile, and her eyes glimmered for the smallest part of a second with what looked like humor.

"Really? More than Gallifrey? You're kidding me."

He nodded, "You're far bigger than a planet, Clara."

She shook her head at his poor choice of words, "Why did you leave in the first place?"

"I left because I didn't want you to spend your life waiting for me to come and take you away. You had the opportunity to get married, and make lots of babies, and grow old, and die, just like Oswin and Matthew, but if I kept bringing you with me that opportunity may have been taken away."

Clara sat up straighter,"Who says I want to get married? Who says I even want babies? Answer me Doctor because I have never once mentioned these things to you."

He frowned,"Children… are the most beautiful things anyone can ever create… Why wouldn't you want them?"

"Well for one thing, it takes two to tango, and I haven't got a dance partner that I love enough to let them_ impregnate_ me. For another, I haven't got that particular mothering urge as yet. Not with Angie and Artie as sneak peeks, anyway."

"Two to tango, eh," he said thoughtfully, and then shook himself, "I'm sorry for being such a broomhead."

She snorted, "Don't think you're getting off that easy. This conversation isn't over, but seeing as we're in a place I'm not familiar with, I have to change topics: Where are we?"

"I don't know," he said.

"Who shot us? Why am I in plugged up to all these tubes?" she motioned to the IV lines in her arms, "And where are Oswin and Matthew."

"I don't know," he said.

"To which one?" she asked.

"All three," he said, "I woke up and you were like that. It scared me, Clara."

She fidgeted, tugging on the strands of hair closest to her face until it was painful. Hands dropping, she looked around at the empty room.

It almost looked like a prison. A cold, white prison.

"What do they want from us," she asked him, her volume dropping into a whisper.

A cold, drawling voice that seemed to come from all sides surrounded them.

"Everything."

**A/N: Hope that wasn't too bad. I've been frantically writing analytical papers all week and am feeling rather drained :/ Thank you for reading! (Review?)**


	9. Chapter 9

The Great Intelligence swept his gaze around the room, lips pressed tightly together in what could have passed for a smile had the emotion reached his eyes.

On his left hand glinted a golden ring, and a little further up, a golden wristwatch.

He looked at it casually before giving full attention to the Doctor and Clara.

She felt the hairs on her arms rise as his calculated gaze traveled down the length of her body, pausing briefly on her abdomen.

The Doctor's hand wrapped around her limp wrist, giving it a small squeeze, warning her not to say anything.

The slightest raise of eyebrows indicated that The Great Intelligence had noticed their exchange.

"My name is Dr. Simeon," the man said, picking up a folder from the table beside the door, "I am the founder and leader of the Great Intelligence Group."

He paused, and that's when Clara realized she'd been holding her breath, waiting for him to call the Doctor by his title.

"I will assume from your silence that you have never heard of us," he continued, flipping through the contents of Clara's folder.

He turned the last page, took in its contents, and snapped the folder shut.

"Good. I didn't have to waste time putting a bullet through somebody's head today."

His hands clasped together, long fingers entwining with one another as he observed the two.

Clara wondered if those hands had ever felt the warmth of another against them, but instinctively knew that the answer to that question was no.

"In two hours you shall attend breakfast with me, and we can all become better acquainted with one another. Until then feel free to make yourselves at home in this room."

Clara's head jerked to the sound of a turning knob.

A young man in a lab coat entered quickly, halting in front of Simeon with a posture similar to that of a tired cart horse standing before an overly demanding farmer.

"Get out of the way," the Great Intelligence said to the Doctor, his voice calm.

"Not until you tell us where we are," the Doctor said, bristling.

"Don't you see that she needs medical attention," Simeon asked, "Or are you too daft to understand the delicacy of your wife's condition?"

"I'm not carrying a child!" Clara spat, startling the Doctor, and forcing Simeon to look at her in the eyes.

"Yes, I know," he said, "But with the behavior you displayed up on the roof, you seriously had me considering. You women are often capable of being incredibly irritating when with child. So... Emotional."

She pinked, "I'll have you know that being a woman is far more diff-."

The Doctor squeezed her wrist again, effectively silencing her.

She swallowed her pride, and turned her comeback into a question.

"Even if I was going to have a baby-."

She shuddered inwardly at the thought, praying that wherever she was, that Oswin was safe.

"Why would it matter to you?"

The man only smiled, succeeding in making Clara even angrier.

"I will tell you what you need to know at breakfast over a plate of hash. Do have patience, Mrs. Smith. And try not to get your heart rate up while Miles is working on you..."

"No!" She shouted, finally fed up, "I'm tired of being messed around with! Why are we here?"

Dr. Simeon rose a hand, silencing her.

"Tell your husband to move or else I will be _forced_ to do something unpleasant," Simeon said through his teeth, avoiding her question, and from the inside of his coat drawing a black pistol.

Stiffly, the Doctor stood, and walked away from the bed.

Her view of him was soon obstructed by the man in the lab coat coming forward to check her. He pulled a stool from against the wall and quietly settled on it, pulling a pair of medical gloves onto his hands.

"Roll up your robe," he asked, his voice soft.

She shot the Doctor and Simeon a look.

"Can you tell them to turn around, please," she muttered, wincing at the tremor in her voice.

She saw the young man's eyes soften, but he shook his head, "I'm sorry. I can't..."

Looking up at the ceiling, she rolled the gown up, and felt the man undo her bandage.

"Dr. Simeon, sir. Dart M52B's results report a deep abrasion in the skin; almost like a bullet wound. The safer, and might I add less expensive dart to use would be M52A. The one used on the man."

"Excellent. Go ahead and give her half the remedy for a bullet wound. That means she'll have a scar, but we've only got three containers of that drug. The damn woman who developed it burned the formula before my eyes. Said she'd rather die than give it to me." He paused, "I had it arranged."

"Bullet w-," Clara began, looking down.

She caught sight of the bleeding, ragged hole in her body and stiffened as the man carefully cleaned it with some gauze.

"What've you done" she asked, staring at the wound with wide eyes, "Flipping hell, what have you lot done?!"

"Hold still," the man said, pulling an empty syringe from beneath the bed, and filling it with a clear liquid.

The liquid was injected into the area director below the wound, and after a minute of steady burning, Clara saw the edges of the hole tightening, stretching, and _healing._

Within minutes the hole was gone, leaving shiny pink new skin behind.

"It's been a pleasure working with you, Mrs. Smith," the young man muttered, and then exited the room.

She looked up from herself to the Doctor who was staring at her with equal shock.

"I see the demonstration of one of the products we work with has caught your attention," Simeon said, no actual surprise in his voice as he checked his watch again, "I'll send someone to bring you to the dining room in one hour and forty minutes. Do not be late."

A deadbolt fell into place a few seconds after the door closed.

Clara, feeling dread gather in the pit of her stomach, pulled the robe down, and forced herself off the bed.

She began peering around for her clothes, determined not to think about the bullet hole that had been in her skin only minutes ago.

"That's not right," she said, locating a plain looking peterpan collared dress and her heels from before (she had no idea where _her_ dress had gone). "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that the medicine worked on me, but that can't be right! That medicine was far too advanced, even for my day!"

"I know," he said, turning around to face the wall, "That medicine isn't supposed to originate from Earth, and most definitely not in the 20th century. And the darts? Those kinds of weapons should never have been designed... Clara?"

Clara fumbled to get the buttons on the front of her dress done.

"What I want to know is why Simeon doesn't remember us," she said, struggling to get at the zipper on the back, "Isn't that weird?"

The Doctor turned out his pockets, and looked up with a pout, "They took my sonic!"

"Of course they did," Clara sighed, "They're _intelligent_. Hey can you help me with this?" she asked, turning around to show him the undone zipper, "Its driving me mad."

"Mhmm," she heard him say, "Do you want to know my theory on Simeon?"

She felt his presence directly behind her, and then jolted a little when he tried to pull up the zipper.

A shaky 'yes' left her lips.

"It's just a bit stuck," he said, letting out a little grunt of frustration.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, put some elbow grease into it! It's just a zipper!"

Trying again to no avail, he dropped his hands.

"This isn't working."

She spun around, fixing him with her best glare.

"I'll try again," he said, cowering slightly.

She huffed and pulled aside her hair for him to have a better view.

His hands suddenly came to rest on the curves of her waist, fingers pressing lightly into her the fabric of her dress.

"What are you doing," she asked as his hands gently changed the direction she was facing.

He let out a long breath before responding, "I am assessing the problem from different angles—AHA!"

The zipper finally came up, and Clara fixed her hair before facing him again.

"Your theory on Simeon?" she pressed.

"Right!" he said, "Well, from the memory you... showed me, I have deduced that you were a Time Lady. A completely different species than what you were when you jumped into my time stream. Because of this, my guess is that The Great Intelligence's echoes also varied in species in order to better fit his ultimate goal: to destroy me."

She nodded, "That makes sense, I suppose."

"You okay?" He asked.

"I still can't remember anything from Oswin's life, which is really bad because... I want to know," she said, "Plus, I now have an irreversible fear of open wounds."

"Bad, Clara? We're a bit past bad," he said, taking her hands in his, "We're bordering on disastrous."

She giggled softly at that, looking down at their hands, but feeling the stress of their ordeal melt the smile off her face.

"I suppose going through with this breakfast thing is the only way to find out the facts, eh Mrs. Smith?" He asked, trying to cheer her up.

"I suppose so," she said quietly.

She just hoped the facts wouldn't hurt too much.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all so much for taking the time to support this story. It means a lot to me :) **


	10. Chapter 10

Clara rolled off of the bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the cold ground.

Their guide was a blonde boy. A blonde boy with large, angry welt over his right temple.

Clara's heart clenched, and that maternal instinct she'd denied having earlier erupted in her chest.

The boy appeared to be around eight or nine years old, and had hair that stuck out behind his ears like duckling fluff. His face was round, a tell-tale sign that he was well-fed; but his eyes were weary and irate.

He stood stiffly in the middle of the open doorway, his hands behind his back, his face void of any expression save for his unusual tiredness and a certain degree of annoyance Clara was sure could be attributed to her lack of movement.

The Doctor brought her heels over, and she put them on quickly.

A carpeted corridor met them the second they exited the white room, muffling their footsteps so that the only sound to be heard was that of their breathing.

Narrow paneled corridors, and dim lighting meant that their shadows were everywhere. On the ceiling. On the walls. On the floor. And on them, cloaking their faces so that their expressions were almost indiscernible.

Her eyes took seconds to adjust, and by the time they did, the boy was metres in front of her, getting farther away with every second.

Struggling to keep up with the boy's brisk pace, but determined to be as informed as possible, Clara asked him for his name.

They turned sharply to the left, and then so sharply to the right that she almost went the wrong way. The Doctor pulled her into his side, and that way they continued until the boy answered.

He halted before a fork that branched off into two separate hallways. (A fork. In a house. Were they even in a house? It felt like she'd been walking for centuries...)

"I'm Laurie," he said.

She paused, trying to connect the soft voice with the child's troubled image.

"Where's your mother, Laurie," Clara asked, "Why are you here?"

Apparently deciding that the left hallway was his best option, the boy started off again.

"Clara," the Doctor said, voice low and warning.

Ignoring him, Clara reached out to take take the boy's wrist and gently but firmly pulled him to a halt. He tried to wriggle free, but Clara held tight.

"Why," she asked again.

His soft sigh tickled her stomach, and his entire body slackened.

"No mother, just a father."

Just like that, he managed to root himself into her heart. She felt pity and empathy for the boy, and recalled the smell of roses from her mother's funeral. She always remembered the roses. More than she remembered the people, but less than she remembered the crying. She thought she detected the perfume of roses for a fraction of a second, but it soon faded.

Reluctant to let go, but seeing no other alternative, Clara allowed his small wrist to slip from her fingers.

"This way," Laurie said after a right turn.

He opened a door, and motioned for them to enter.

Simeon appeared to be in his natural habitat with the way he reclined on his chair, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. Light filtered into the room from the glass ceiling, coating the place in grayish-blue hues associated with cloudy early mornings brightened only by a series of light bulbs situated in the intricate chandelier above them.

"Leave us, Laurie," Simeon said, turning the page of his paper.

"Yes, father," the boy said, and then with a slight bow, left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Clara looked at the Doctor, but she only got the slightest response from him. A mere twitch of the eye. As though he'd already known that the blonde boy was Simeon's son. She watched his brow wrinkle, and his eyes glow with something similar to fury.

Nothing angered him more than crying children.

This one had been crying on the inside. She could feel it. She'd been around children long enough to know when they were hurting, even if they weren't shedding actual tears.

She glared at Simeon who didn't seem to fully notice either of them until a few seconds later when it became clear that neither of the two had moved an inch.

"Sit down," he said, still reading his article.

Their plates were already on the table, piled high with pancakes, eggs on toast, strips of bacon, and as promised: hash. Pitchers of orange juice and frothy milk sat toward the middle of the table, empty glasses beside them, just waiting to be filled.

Her stomach rumbled, and because of the silence, both men heard it.

While the Doctor pretended to be interested in the food, Simeon openly smirked.

Fury began to simmer again, slowly cooking her insides, growing painful with every passing second. His smirks had irritated her before. But now that she knew that this monster had a son whom he obviously abused, it was hard to restrain from physically assaulting him. She had the mad urge to jump from her chair and rake her nails across his face. Just to see some sort of remorse or regret from him. If not for her sake, then for the boy's.

She jabbed her fork forcefully into a pancake, giving in to a hunger she did not know she had.

When she caught a glimpse of the Doctor's plate, she saw that he'd eaten his pancake but not the eggs on toast nor the hash.

Neither of them had dared touch the hash...

Simeon precariously folded his newspaper, set his drained mug on top of it, and asked if the food had been good.

She didn't respond, but the Doctor gave a tense chuckle.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Doctor sit back in his chair, not with pleasure, but with expectation.

"So," the Doctor said bringing his fingertips together, "Tell us. What is all of this? What are we to you?"

Simeon's lip curled, and Clara once again felt anger trying to pry open her mouth and scream a string of curses in his direction. This man had kidnapped her and the Doctor, made a hole appear in her stomach, and had created a scar that would never fade from her body or her mind. It was because of him that she'd had nightmares over the last six months.

Pushing his chair back and standing up, Simeon strode over to the opposite side of the room.

"Do you remember the darts we used to attain you and your _wife_?" he asked.

The man put one of his hands behind his back, casually rifling through the files in his bureau.

The Doctor blinked. Clara shifted nervously in her seat, her hand straying to the area where her wound had been.

"The Great Intelligence group seeks knowledge," Simeon said, back still turned, "Knowledge of everything that there is to know; cures to the most incurable diseases; weapons designed to bring down death upon a victim in seconds, minutes, hours, or days, depending on what is required by a patron. We develop these things and more. We are progress. We are the future. And we are close... So very close to finding the formula for eternal youth."

He turned to look at them, a file in his hand.

"Unfortunately," he said, "The future comes at a price. A price we must pay. A price I have no limits on paying, even if it means doing something most would consider immoral."

"I don't..." Clara began, but felt realization dawning upon her.

"Ransoms," she said, "You kidnap wealthy people and use the ransoms to fund your research."

"You're correct," he said, sarcasm dripping off of his every word, "Smart girl."

The urge to attack him was almost unbearable.

"Where are Oswin and Matthew," she asked, "You got them too."

Simeon's eye twitched,"I don't know where they are."

The Doctor stood up, "Don't lie to her."

Sighing, as though the Doctor were a child, Simeon repeated his words. Clara waited for further explanation.

"They were ready for the attack," Simeon said after a few seconds, clearly irritated with their lack of knowledge, "They overpowered my people and fled the building in their vehicle. They have not been seen since."

The smallest ray of hope fell on Clara. She sat up straighter, hands wringing nervously, "You mean to say... They're safe?"

"For now, yes," Simeon said, eyes hardening beyond human extent, "But we'll find them soon enough. And that child she's carrying. It'll add value. There's nothing like the possibility of losing your daughter, her husband, and unborn grandchild to loosen the wallet of a sentimental fool ."

Clara thought she might lose her breakfast.

"You're sick."

"Brilliant," he corrected, "I am the most intelligent man this world has ever seen. But you have to understand, I still require help. I still require new information. I still require...anomalies. Test subjects, subjects for observation. People with two hearts for instance."

Clara stiffened as he cast a look at the Doctor.

He took out an envelope from the file, and removed what appeared to be an old portrait of a young woman in a blue Victorian gown.

Slowly, purposefully, he placed it on the table.

"And people who never die."

She reached out to take the photograph, and found herself staring at one of her doppelgangers. The only one who'd ever actually stepped foot into the Doctor's TARDIS.

"It reads 'Clara Oswin Oswald, 1891' on the back in the bottom right corner," Simeon said, "Taken from the autobiography of the late Captain Thomas Latimer."

Heart beating too fast for her to think, she listened to him read from a dark green volume he'd also taken from the bordeau.

_The young woman in the photograph was my children's governess, and up until the day she died, I only knew her as Miss Montague._

_Her real name was Clara Oswin Oswald, and she was only twenty-six years old when she passed into the hands of God._

_I cannot thank the ridiculous man in the bow tie enough for saving my family and so many others on that miserable Christmas night; however, it is also because of him that my family lost one of its most treasured members._

_Resenting the Doctor has never been my choice; it has been my duty._

Simeon lifted his head, and snapped the book shut.

The Doctor was tense beside her, obviously in the midst of reliving a terrible memory.

"It's impossible," Simeon said, "Plainly impossible. You, Oswin Taylor, and this governess are identical. The only question I have for you is how? How are three different women born years apart identical?"

"Oswin and I-," Clara began, but was interrupted by Simeon.

"Twin sisters? No. You claim you were born in 1921. Mrs. Taylor told everyone on the roof her year of birth was 1921, whereas according to her legal papers, her year of birth was in 1920. And she knew it too. She lied to you Miss Oswald, you and your Doctor."

His use of their names didn't surprise Clara. 'Bow tie,' had been too much of a hint from the Captain for the Great Intelligence (even in echo form) not to connect the dots.

"Why would she lie?" the Doctor asked.

"To protect you," Clara said, a smile lighting up her face, "Well, she was protecting me really, but indirectly she was protecting you."

Both men looked puzzled, and that only made Clara's smile grow.

Oswin hadn't been too fond of the Ross couple. Her husband had been oblivious, but Oswin had been careful around Mrs. Ross that evening. Always small talk, and never anything of grand importance until she announced her pregnancy.

Clara had noticed the suspicious looks Oswin had given their guest couple, and had wondered vaguely why they were friends at all.

_Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer._

Oswin must have known. She must have known the Ross couple were part of some scheme. She was smart.

"She knew the couple who had come as guests were not really friends of theirs. They were always asking questions and never giving much information about themselves in return. She must have known a long time before the Doctor and I came along, but when we did she didn't skip a beat."

She looked at the Doctor then, "She would never have told Matthew about something as big as a baby in public like that unless she wanted to draw attention to herself, and away from something else: us."

The certainty in her voice for once matched the certainty in her head, and she knew what she had spoken was true. She had already done it once before.

"We could have all gotten away had it not been for me," she said, mentally berating herself for being so dull.

The Doctor nodded his head slowly up and down.

"Doctor," she said, dread gathering in her mind like a thick fog, distorting everything, and making his voice sound louder than it actually was.

"What is it?"

"She's going to come back to save you. Its what she was meant to do."

A steady buzz coming from all around them made the hairs on Clara's arms stand on end, and then all at once the lights went out, leaving them only with that watery dark-gray light filtering through the glass ceiling.

All was quiet; they were too bewildered by what had happened to speak. A piercing scream rang out before silence regained its grip on the world once more.

Clara slowly stood up from her chair, her hand finding the Doctor's.

The door flew open, and she jumped.

Heavy breathing met her ears, and then the light of a torch shone in her eyes, temporarily blinding her. The ray soon moved from her face, and she was able to blink away the stars.

"Dr. Simeon, sir! The anomalies have gotten loose in the floors below." Here he paused for a labored breath, and Clara could only imagine what could be so terrible that frightened this hulk of a man. "And your son, sir... he isn't in his bedroom."

* * *

**A/N: Hope that wasn't too confusing! Message me if it was :) If there's any constructive criticism, praise, anything you all need to say, just leave a review or shoot me a PM. I may not be able to update next week because of a slew of work that has been forced upon me by the education system, but please be patient! :) As always, thank you for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: First part is in Oswin's POV, Second part is in Clara's.**

The dumbwaiter moved up slowly from the basement of the Great Intelligence's headquarters.

Oswin rolled the metal tip of her screwdriver between her thumb and forefinger, trying not to think about what would happen once they reached the top floor.

It was dark to the point of blackness. Matthew's uneven breathing ruffled her hair and sounded amplified in the eerie silence. His hands rested below her tool belt, on the lower part of her stomach, protecting the tiny almost nonexistent swell that existed there.

Finding the building had been relatively easy with the help of their driver, Henry. While they'd hidden at a little place they had on Long Island, he'd scouted the city for the car that had kidnapped Clara and her husband. Once they got there, cutting off the main power had been laughably simple. Locating the back up source had been a little less so, but she'd done it in seconds and the building had then completely lost power. She could only hope it would be enough for them to do what they had come to do.

She wriggled in her husband's lap, uncomfortable in the tiny space, and eager to get out of the dumbwaiter.

Matthew had, of course, firmly opposed her plan in the beginning, but using guilt to her advantage, Oswin had managed to convince him. She didn't know why, but she knew it was her duty to save the Doctor.

She'd heard Clara call him that once in a hushed voice, and since then she'd felt nothing but the urge- no...the need to protect him.

The dumbwaiter came to halt, and she made to open the door.

Matthew lifted his arms up from her sides to wrap them around her shoulders.

"No," he said.

"We've already spoken about this," she said, "Let me go."

"No."

"We have to save them, they're..."

"Not related to you in any way," he said, his voice terse with an undertone of fear.

She sighed, her body going loose and sinking against his.

"I know," she said, "But this isn't a question of blood. It's a question of whether leaving them to these people is the right thing to do."

She breathed in, her left hand tight around the screwdriver, "I don't think I could live with myself if I let them die here."

And it was true... They would die here if she didn't step in. If Clara wasn't her sister then she was her doppelgänger. They could potentially use her for ransom and nobody would ever know the difference.

Oswin shuddered. Her father wouldn't pay the ransom. He *couldn't* pay the ransom.

The family company had fallen upon hard times recently. She had attempted to persuade her father to modernize the products (they made torches), but he had only scoffed, saying that her proposals were fantasies only a _woman_ could come up with.

The Doctor and Clara would be disposed of if she didn't do something,

"Please, Oswin," Matthew begged, "We can still leave, we can still escape. Think of our child. Think of the baby."

She pressed her lips to his softly, felt his arms loosen around her and pulled away.

"I am. I am. But we have to save them..."

Slowly, she turned from him, ignoring his quiet 'no' and inching open the door.

A gust of cool air dried the thin sheen of nervous sweat on her forehead within seconds.

She swung her legs out, and then the rest of her body. Her grip on the screwdriver rendered her knuckles white. Looking around the room, she was immediately aware of the screaming and indiscernible thumps coming from just past the closed doors at the far end of the room.

"Where are we," Matthew asked, his tone hushed.

"I dunno, kitchen maybe... There's a stove and a pantry," Oswin said, pulling a small torch from her tool belt and switching it on.

She opened a drawer and closed it hurriedly, "What do you reckon is going on out there?"

His shoulders tensed in a shrug tainted by worry.

"Must we find out though darling? We can still go back."

"We need to get them out of here," she said, but the words sounded fearful even to her ears.

Matthew sighed, his dark hair falling from its usually molded quiff and into his eyes.

Fleetingly, Oswin marveled at how much the Doctor looked like her husband. They had the same slim figure, the same green eyes, the same hair... Their chin's were different though. Matthew possessed a small chin; the Doctor, a large one.

It must have been a coincidence that they shared so many of the same factions, but soon it occurred to her that all her boyfriends (well, the two she'd had before Matthew) all seemed to have the same physical traits.

Brushing the thoughts away like troublesome flies, she ushered her husband toward the closed door.

"Wait!" he cried.

From his pocket he drew a small black pistol, and looked at her with a rather awkward expression..

Her eyes widened, her eyebrows going upward in the direction of her hairline.

"Since when have you had that?!"

"Since Henry reminded me that my wife, whom I love more than the Earth itself, is throwing herself and our unborn child into a life threatening situation unarmed," he paused, "I never thought I'd ever actually have to hold one of these things.

Turning the gun over in his hand, he looked into her watering eyes, "But then again, I never thought I'd meet someone for whom I would _use_ a firearm for in a heartbeat."

He knelt down, keeping the gun pointed at the floor, and leaned forward to press a kiss to her stomach.

Heart expanding, Oswin watched on as he quickly made the sign of the cross over her and jumped to his feet.

"We're going to be okay," she choked and then launched herself into his arms.

Matthew didn't say anything back, only holding her until she was ready to let to.

* * *

Simeon told them nothing as he shoved them into a rather small room.

There was the turning of a key and then nothing but the faint screams coming from just beyond the door.

"Doctor," she whispered.

"Yes?" he asked

"Now would be an excellent time for a plan."

"Gotcha. And I'm trying to think of one. It'll come to me don't worry," he said.

"Doctor," she whispered again.

"Yes?"

"What did he mean by anomalies? And why was he so afraid? What are those noises?

There was a crash from outside the room and Clara's breath hitched.

The Doctor moved from where he was standing to be in front of her.

Another crash, and a bloodcurdling scream that seemed to belong to a man burned itself into her eardrums.

The Doctor held a finger over her lips, resting it there for a moment before slowly lowering it.

"Mutated organisms," he breathed, and Clara's eyes widened, "Humans, animals, aliens maybe. He's gotten them all and changed their genetic structure."

The crashing continued until it passed the door, a series of moans and growls following in its wake.

"And the guinea pigs are angry."

Clara heard a rustling from one of the corners in the room, and almost screamed.

"Hello?" The Doctor whispered.

More rustling, as though the thing were adjusting itself.

And then a voice came, "Mr. Smith?"

A figure emerged, only the faintest outline in the darkness.

A green glow and a faint buzz came from where she would expect the hands of someone small to be.

"Laurie," she asked, "Is it you?

"Yes," his voice said, "Thank God you're still alive."

She felt the Doctor's body move away from her, leaving her cold.

"Is that my sonic," the Doctor asked.

"Your device yes," the boy said, his voice still not above a whisper, "I took it from my father's study because I knew he would only use it to do more bad things."

"Can I have it back please," the Doctor asked and then she heard him exclaim in pain.

"That wasn't nice," she said, not very sure what exactly had happened only that the Doctor was now jumping about very noisily.

The boy spoke again, "I will give it to you if you promise me one thing... Please..."

Perhaps it was his tone, so sad and tired that made the Doctor stop his hopping and actually listen.

The boy exhaled, "When you escape... I want you to take me with you."

Before Clara or the Doctor could respond, there was another crash, and this time the shot of a gun.

The door opened, and Laurie tossed the Doctor his sonic, his request still very much in the air..

How her giraffe limbed old man managed to catch the damn thing in near darkness she didn't know, but he did, and pointed it at the door like if it were a sword.

"Clara? Doctor? It's us... Oswin and Matthew... We need to get out of here."

Another scream, this one long and drawn out. Sobbing accompanied it, followed by a sick squelching sound.

Oswin seemed to be fighting not to vomit, "Correction: We need to get out of here _now_."

**A/N: Wow! Seventy! That's far more than I ever anticipated for this story thank you all so much, and I'm sorry for the lateness.**


	12. Chapter 12

A primal roar tore at her eardrums.

She saw Oswin stumbling forward a couple steps, and heard the slamming of a door.

Past the heavy breathing of the new arrivals, and through the wooden door, a woman's voice pleaded with the thing, begging for mercy with all of her heart.

Clara heard a quiet moan, and felt Laurie convulse against her side.

The woman outside screamed once, out of shock, and then again, louder this time, out of pain. The screams continued, and Clara cringed, wanting nothing more than to sit in a corner with her hands covering her ears.

"Lizzie!" Laurie shrieked, "Lizzie! Lizzie! Lizzie!"

A cold sweat broke out on the back of Clara's neck. There was no way the thing had not heard that.

Clara grabbed him by the collar, digging her fingers into the stiff fabric, and pressing his face into her dress in order to muffle his grief.

She felt the Doctor's arms come around her, sandwiching the boy between them. A rebellious tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She pressed her nose into his brown tweed, breathing in his scent and withholding a sob.

She heard a familiar sniffling and concluded that Oswin had been unable to hold in her emotions.

The Doctor ran soothing circles over her back. Up. Right. Down. Left. Up. Right. Down. Left.

It made her feel funny. To think that she'd once been pregnant. That she'd once been married. To think that she'd even been in a serious relationship at all!

To think that in her past lives, she'd loved someone enough to let herself fall pregnant... well, it was pretty unbelievable. At least to her it was.

The Doctor kissed her temple, his lips leaving a slightly moist imprint on the soft skin there. She shuddered when Laurie tightened his grip on her and let out his most heartbreaking howl yet.

When the woman's screams finally died down, Clara's breathing seized.

The thing, whatever it was, roared.

Untangling himself from her, the Doctor sprang to the door, Matthew close behind. They pressed their backs into it, digging their heels into the wooden floor and grunting as the creature tried to force its way in. Clara would have helped had Laurie not been using her as a human support.

After a few seconds the thing whined and stalked away, clearly unwilling to continue fighting for its meal.

Everyone relaxed, but the men didn't leave from their places at the door.

The high pitched whine of the Doctor's sonic set her teeth on edge.

Above their heads lights came to life with a _pop_.

"What was that thing?" Clara asked.

Oswin shook her head, "We couldn't see... Too dark..."

Matthew broke in, "We've run into demons from the darkest corners of my nightmares in this building."

He shuddered, "And they eat people.."

Oswin's face went slightly green and she clutched at her stomach.

Clara closed her eyes as her echo vomited onto the floor.

She opened them to see Matthew supporting his wife.

"How did you get in," she asked, fighting the urge to throw up herself.

Matthew answered, "Oswin found some blueprints of the building at the library. There's a tunnel connecting this building's basement to the one at the corner of the street. It hadn't been used for ages, and I nearly broke my shoulder trying to open the hatch."

The Doctor smiled humorlessly, "Good old New York. Full of secrets. Full of history."

A movement at her side reminded her of Laurie's presence.

"Lizzie," he groaned into her dress.

Clara grimaced, and pushed him away just enough for her to bend down to his level.

"Who's Lizzie?" she asked gently.

"Who's that?" Matthew asked pointing at Laurie.

Clara shushed him.

Suspicious, Oswin straightened up.

Laurie wiped at his nose with his sleeve, pulling away a trail of glistening snot.

"She raised me after mother died. She was all I had... And now she's dead!"

He cried into her chest, and it reminded her of eight year old Artie hours after his mother passed away.

His eyes had been so big as cried into her university shirt.

With a hiccup he'd asked if she was going to leave them too.

She couldn't bring herself to say yes even though the plane tickets for San Francisco were booked. And she hadn't been able to say yes at any point in the last three years even though she'd desperately wanted to.

"Laurie," she began, mumbling so that only he could hear, "I know it's hard to lose someone you love, but you can't break to pieces right now. Do you think you can focus long enough to help us? You must know this place better than anyone... Please."

His harsh breathing told her that he was trying to put himself together.

"My father. He changes animals, and he changes people using the serums his scientists invent in the labs on the ninth and tenth floors."

He took a deep breath, "The sixth, seventh, and eighth floors are where the creatures are kept behind locked electric doors. Father thought they were safer since the only way the doors could open were by the controls in his office. We'd had power outages before, and it had been fine because of the back-up, but I figure that's gone as well."

"Where are we now," The Doctor asked, "What floor?"

Laurie's face scrunched up, and he curled in on himself, his thin shoulders shaking from the weight of his grief.

"No, no," the Doctor began, looking uncomfortable, "Don't..."

Clara glared at him, and mouthed for him to be comforting.

"Hey," he said, kneeling down in front of the crying boy, "Hey. Hey. You said you wanted to get out of here didn't you?"

"The fifth," Laurie said, wiping at his eyes furiously, "There are stairs at the end of this corridor that go all the way to the basement. We can use those if there really is a tunnel."

"There is," Oswin said, "Trust us."

Laurie looked between her and Clara with dull astonishment, "You two look exactly the same."

Clara sighed, "Yeah."

"Are you sisters?"

"No. It's a bit too complicated to explain and now isn't really the time," she said.

Oswin raised her eyebrows, "But there will be a time won't there?"

Clara held her gaze, "Yes. There will definitely be a time. I promise."

Opening the door quickly as to prevent the creaking of door hinges, Matthew peeked his head out.

"Right then," the Doctor said, looking at the both of them warily, "Let's get out of here."

* * *

Though they couldn't see the corpses, the smells of the few on the stairs provided plenty of unpleasant images, and more than once Clara wondered how Oswin was faring.

They went down the steps with great care, not knowing what could await them at the bottom of every flight.

She nearly fell twice.

Once when she missed a step, and the second time when the Doctor, in an attempt to be chivalrous, tried to put his hand on her waist in order to keep her steady and accidentally went a _little too low._

After walking down a flight of stairs, a bitter smell reached her nostrils, making her cough.

It seemed to be coming from the floors above them, but she couldn't be absolutely sure.

The world felt hotter, thicker.

At the third floor stop, the air quality wasn't getting any better. They were all coughing, the Doctor was breathing into the sleeve of his coat.

_Wait_.

She could _see_ him breathing into the sleeve of his coat.

The world was quickly growing visible.

She turned on the step, feeling her heart pound as she looked up. There were no flames yet, but the smell and the light made the fact obvious.

"Fire," she gasped.

She'd once read that fire traveled faster than some cars going at over ninety miles an hour.

They were on foot.

* * *

**A/N: As I have it planned, this story will be wrapping up in a couple of chapters, and after that I'm not sure what I'll do. Maybe a couple one-shots, but nothing major unless I'm struck with inspiration. Thank you for reading, and I'll be responding to all reviews written for this chapter via PM**

**Also I apologize for any errors you may find, I haven't had the chance to edit this to the best of my abilities :) **


	13. Chapter 13

Panting, she climbed down the steps as fast as her legs could, cursing, not for the first time, their short length.

The haze thickened with every passing second, filling her lungs with smoke and making her eyes burn with involuntary tears.

She jumped the last three steps, and felt shooting pains go up her feet in response to the harsh impact at her heels.

"Don't just stand there," Matthew shouted, his hand intwined his wife's, "We need to keep moving! The fire's coming!"

"No," the Doctor shouted, "We can't it's moving too fast!"

Panic settled in as the heat intensified, and somehow, past the smell of the smoke, came the smell of burning flesh, horrifyingly sweet.

"In," the Doctor said, and a current of cool air hit her face, "There's a door to the third floor, we can catch our breaths and think things out in there."

"But then we'll be trapped," she shouted, looking nervously up the stairs.

"Not if we climb out one of the windows," the Doctor said, scanning the place around them with his sonic, "At the height we're at that shouldn't be too difficult! Or we could find another staircase- or something! Come on! In!"

Oswin and Mathew looked at each other, fear in their eyes, and ran in without another word. Laurie went next, his slender body darting in so fast that Clara hardly blinked and then he was gone. She followed, turning to make sure the Doctor came in as well. He slammed the door shut and told them to get away from it.

Clara stepped back, feeling cold in spite of the insanely high temperature that flooded the corridor seconds after the door closed.

The lights came on in harmony with the sound of the Doctor's sonic.

"What's the plan again," she asked.

"Why do you keep asking about plans?"

She groaned, "Because I like knowing if my life is going to end anytime soon, and Doctor if you don't have a plan, not only is my life going to end, but yours is going to end first, and I'm going to make sure of it!"

He spun on her, his hands gesticulating wildly "This is how we roll Clara, don't you remember? We make up things as we go! It usually works out!"

She scoffed as he scanned the area again.

"Oh! Pardon me!" she said, packing in as much of a sneer as she could, "My memory is just a bit fuzzy. It's been a while since I risked my neck on an adventure with you. How long was it again? Oh yes! Six months!"

He laughed unkindly, and for a second she was taken aback.

"Now," he asked, bending over exaggeratedly to look her in the eye, "We're going to do this now?! In front of-."

He gestured to the others.

"- I thought we were done with that. I thought that it wasn't important anymore!"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Three weeks after you left I had a meltdown of some sort because I began to wonder if you had died out on an adventure by yourself. I was a wreck; a blubbering fool who didn't leave her room for two days, and couldn't tell anyone why. You can't just think that a half-assed explanation about how you needed me is going to fix the fact that you left."

The Doctor opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

She looked at the others, "God, you must think we're mental."

Matthew was looking at her with his eyes wide open, "You two are most definitely the oddest married couple I have ever met."

Clara clenched her jaw.

What was the use of keeping up the stupid façade if it was all going to come out into the open eventually?

"Oh, we're not married," she said, feeling a blush paint her cheeks pink, "We're not even a couple. I have a feeling this one's asexual."

"Clara!" The Doctor said.

He tapped the screwdriver against his temple, and let out a frustrated noise.

She crossed her arms, feeling her temper flare again, "They were going to figure it out soon enough, I'm not even wearing a ring!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a shake," Stop behaving like a- like a- bossy, nonsensical, patronizing, Dalek!"

He dropped his hands from her, looking ashamed.

"I didn't mean it like that."

She advanced on him, and gave his face a hard slap.

He clutched at his cheek, "Ow-OW!"

She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to her level, "Look at me!"

His eyes widened comically, and she experienced a brief twinge of satisfaction at being able to frighten him to that extent.

"You were going to leave me behind on the Asylum because I was a Dalek, but I saved your miserable ass anyway. That happened hundreds upon hundreds of times, but you almost never noticed that I was there. You always carried on, forgetting the girl who risked everything to save you."

She stepped backwards and grabbed Oswin by the elbow, "Look at her stomach Doctor. Do you see how it's a little bit round right there?"

"Clara...," he said, pleading.

She lowered her voice, "That's a baby, Doctor. Her baby. She risked her child to save you. The least you could do is be grateful."

"I am!" He protested, looking at Oswin first, and then at Clara,

She felt tears burning her eyes, "Well you've done a rubbish job of showing it! We're all going to die in here! Be it because we go up in flames, or because a madman's experiment makes us dinner!"

His left eye twitched, and his hands were frozen in a position that looked as though he was reaching out to her.

Knots formed themselves in her stomach.

"Doc-?"

His lips were abruptly on hers, their light pressure conveying his hesitance. A second later, and he was three feet away, looking at her like she might pull a soufflé from her backside.

"Again," she said, her voice surprisingly strong in stark contrast to her trembling knees and erratic heartbeat.

"What?"

"Kiss me again," she said.

He spluttered, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

If she was going to die, she wanted to die with the thought that at least she'd been properly snogged by the Doctor.

"Again, Doctor. I don't bite."

His expression unreadable, he stepped forward, wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her up against him. His lips were on hers not a moment later, moving desperately into hers with a passion that rivaled any other kiss she'd ever had. Mouth opening, she let out a little sigh: his name. Her eyes tightened, and she pulled him closer, her hands mussing at his hair. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and she felt herself being lifted off the ground.

Someone cleared their throat, Oswin perhaps.

In the end, he was the one who pulled away, but the space between them was minuscule, and she could feel his breath on her face.

"Clara Oswald," he said, his forehead pressing against hers, "I'm so sorry."

She gulped, the desire to kiss him again almost unbearable.

He pulled away, his face reddening when he saw Laurie shaking his head in disgust, and the other couple wearing identical looks of confusion.

Clara shrugged helplessly, her heart now beating so fast that it may as well have been switched onto hyper speed.

"But I can't undo what I've already done. I won't go back and fix that mistake. Not ever."

"Why not?" She asked.

He looked at Oswin, before looking back to her, "Does it need saying?"

She shook her head once, and then gave him a final kiss on the lips.

"Get us out of here, Doctor."

Stepping back and tapping the closed elevator doors, his lips twitched upward.

"I just thought of an idea."

* * *

She hated his plans. She really, really did.

"This was your idea!" she said, feeling a bead of sweat dribble down her neck, and into her dress. Not only was it hot, but she was also incredibly frightened by the prospect of falling to her death.

Sweaty hands gripped tightly at the metal rung of the elevator shaft ladder. She risked a peek down, and saw the elevator far below her. A good_ three stories_ below.

Shaking, she decided that she would look straight ahead for the rest of the climb down.

"Well it was this or get burned to death," the Doctor called from somewhere below her, "Which would you rather go through?"

"Neither," Matthew said, his voice from far above.

"I have to agree with my husband," Oswin said, "Would now be a good time to mention that I'm not very keen on heights?"

Clara laughed, the sound broken and shaky. Without thinking she looked down again.

"Oh god," she squeaked, taking a few steadying breaths before continuing the descent, "Doctor, I hate you."

"No you don't, you just hate heights."

She was about to snap back, but her foot found empty air where she expected a rung to be. Her hands grappled for the rungs, but they were now too slick to properly hold on.

A scream left her mouth as she fell, and was abruptly cut off by someone catching her by the forearm.

"Clara!" three sets of voices screamed.

She looked at the frighteningly far ground below, and began hyperventilating.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Clara," the Doctor said, his voice strained.

She looked up at him, and felt herself slowly slipping through his grip.

"I'm going to swing you to the ladder," he said, and grunted before continuing, "Grab onto it quickly."

Clara nodded, breathing heavily.

"One. Two. Three!"

Her hands found the rungs and she clung on.

"I'm- I'm okay. I made it."

She really did hate his plans. They always backfired somehow. Every single time.

By the time her feet found the solid surface of the elevator, her arms were trembling from exhaustion, and her leg muscles were burning.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't- Good lord, Clara."

"'m okay," she mumbled, pulling away and glancing at Laurie who was looking at her with wide eyes.

"You almost died," he said, "How can you be okay?!"

Shrugging, she walked over to him and took his hand, "You get used to it when you travel with the Doctor."

Someone tapped her shoulder. Oswin.

"I want answers now. This whole thing is just too bizarre. I want to know why we look the same, why you lied to us, and why- why I feel like if I don't help, I will die."

The Doctor looked at her grimly, shaking his head ever so slightly. He sidestepped Matthew, and pried open a door on top of the elevator car.

"Geronimo," he said, lowering himself through.

Biting her lip, Clara followed him.

Hands caught her by the waist, and lowered her gently to the floor.

Oswin came next, followed by Laurie, and lastly by Matthew.

"The truth," Oswin said, putting her small hands on Clara's shoulders, "Now."

**A/N: I was on time this week! Thank you for reading, and please leave a review, they're very appreciated :) **


	14. Chapter 14

"I suppose... it makes sense," Oswin said, her brow furrowed.

Matthew laughed, "Sense! That made the opposite of sense! An alien? And a woman split into a thousand different versions of herself? They're mad!"

Clara saw Laurie slip out from behind Matthew, his face curiously blank as he tugged at the hem of his soot covered white shirt.

She was quickly growing tired of Matthew's close-mindedness, but because of the headache gathering strength in between her eyebrows, she did not say anything back.

A lick of pain spread over her lower abdomen, burning like a fire. Involuntarily, she gasped, attracting the attention of all in the non-functioning elevator.

The Doctor locked eyes with her, concerned, but because she was just as confused as he was, she only shrugged her shoulders.

"I just remembered that I forgot to give Artie his medication before we left," she got out.

She saw the doubt in his clear green eyes, and looked away.

His hand moved up and down her arm, fingers lingering on her shoulder to give it a squeeze before returning hastily to his side. He opened the elevator doors with his sonic and darted off too one side of the floor.

Oswin let a breath out, followed by a laugh that Clara knew all too well as the laugh she did before bursting into tears.

She turned around, "You're not going to die. You're not. Okay? You're not going to die. Not if there's anything I can still do."

The woman smiled, and Clara took a step forward.

She reached up on her tiptoes and gave Oswin a kiss on the forehead, just like her mother used to do to her as a girl.

"You'll get to be a mummy yet, I promise."

Oswin's eyes widened, and Clara realized that this was how people saw her when she was afraid.

"I really am you," her echo said, reaching up to poke her in the cheek.

Clara batted her hand away, "None of that."

Oswin chuckled tensely, "I hope your promise is one you can keep."

The Doctor came back with a handkerchief pressed to his mouth, "The fire has already reached this floor. But I found the front doors!"

Matthew gave Clara one last wary look before tugging on his wife's hand and stepping out of the crowded elevator.

Laurie's small hand fell into hers, and she couldn't help but feel a rush of maternal instinct for the frightened boy.

Another pain ran through her, and this time another sensation came: someone holding her hand, pressing desperate kisses to it. Hot tears were falling down her face.

The Doctor snapped his fingers in front of her, cutting off the memory.

"Clara come on, we need to get out of here. I know you're remembering something, but the lobby doors are close by. Hold on a bit."

Clara felt sick to her stomach. Had she just been about to die in another life? Had it been the one of the woman just outside the elevator?

She followed the Doctor out, and walking close behind her, one hand over his nose and mouth, was Laurie.

Smoke was everywhere. It made everything hazy, and unreal. It also made her body react in such a way that her lungs seemed to want to be coming out through her windpipe. Accompanying the smoke like a terrifying older brother was fire.

The eeriest thing of it all? No people. No mutants. Just flames and smoke.

She tread carefully through the burning lobby, nimbly avoiding pieces of broken furniture, and trying not to think about the groaning noises from above.

"Please tell me thats not what I think it is," Oswin said, peering up at the ceiling, one hand over her stomach.

"This building is going to collapse very, very soon," the Doctor said, "So we shouldn't be here when that happens."

"Unfortunately that's not a chance you're going to get."

Simeon's voice chilled her bones, but the sound that came next sent tendrils of ice to the core of her being.

It was a vicious crack, one Clara recognized as the sound of a gunshot. The Doctor shouted her name.

She froze, her body muscles going rigid. Laurie moved from her side to her back in the span of half a second. He jerked against her.

His small body swayed, and a tiny grunt escaped him as he collapsed gracelessly onto the floor.

Simeon uttered an insult, but Clara felt too much shock to focus on his exact words.

Her hands dampened quickly with the hot blood that bloomed from Laurie's thin chest.

The boy didn't speak. He just looked at her with pained blue eyes.

She shook her head, "You're just a child. This wasn't supposed to happen to you."

Laurie smiled softly, "The story you told Oswin was true wasn't it? I could see it in your eyes...I could see it..."

"Get up," Simeon spat at her, "Now."

She felt Doctor come up behind her.

"Come on, Clara," he said gently, "You can't help him anymore."

Clara shoved his hands away from her shoulders, "No. This is what happens when you travel alone. You get cold, and you forget... We don't walk away, remember?"

The blood was beginning to stick, but she kept her hands over the wound, trying and failing to stanch it.

"You were going to come with us. You were going to see the stars with us. You were going to see everything, " she said to the boy, "The Doctor could have been your family. Why did you save me?!"

"I had to," he said, "Besides, your Doctor never wanted me. And you? Much as you look like her, you could never be my mother." His hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt. He lifted it slightly.

Covered slightly in some of his blood, tucked into the waistband of his trousers, was Matthew's pistol.

The plan came to her like a blessing from the universe. She knew it would work because she had already seen it happen once before.

Leaning forward for the second time in minutes, she kissed the boy's forehead, her hands pulling the pistol behind her back as she stood up and stepped away from Laurie.

His eyes were already closed.

Simeon held his gun steadily, as though he had not, in fact, just shot and killed his son.

Jaw clenching, Clara put the gun into view, and pointed it at him.

"You're not human," she said, "Your original was as alien as could be, and you are only human now because you have a beating heart. I'm going to put an end to that soon.."

"Clara... Don't," the Doctor began.

She laughed, and even to her it sounded a bit off the rocker.

"No."

Simeon's eyes were on her, dangerously narrowed.

Her plan was working. His attentions were on her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Oswin slowly bend down and pick something up off the ground. Oswin slowly began moving.

"This is my life's work," Simeon shouted.

The flames threw shadows over his unhinged features, making him even more frightening, "This building is my life, and you and

your abnormal husband _destroyed it_."

Clara felt a heat wave go through the lobby.

There were fire sirens outside, but of course, nobody was going to approach a burning building on the verge of collapse.

"That boy was your son," Clara said, just as loud, "Don't you feel anything?"

"He was a traitor. A runt. The son of a woman with your exact appearance."

Clara felt her eyebrows rise, "What?"

"Oh yes!" Simeon said smugly, "His mother could have been your twin. Same last name and everything. After two months of being my secretary, she discovered she was pregnant with my son. A couple years after she had the boy, I discovered that she planned to expose my experiments to the public. She had a knack for writing the most convincing articles. I couldn't allow her to go around spilling my secrets, so I got rid of her her!"

His words had made her nauseous, and her hands were now clenched sweatily around the pistol.

Laurie was her echo's son.

Simeon's cracked lips parted, revealing white teeth, and pink gums.

"And I'm going to do the same to you."

She cocked her gun threateningly, but his smile only continued to grow more and more demonic with every passing second.

His hand moved, aiming the gun at the Doctor instead of her.

"Shoot me and I shoot him," Simeon said.

Clara turned the gun sideways. It was all a show, but at the very least it was a good show.

She saw Oswin coming up behind Simeon, the leg of a chair clutched tight in her hands.

The moment the chair leg came down on Simeon's head the Doctor body crashed against hers.

A gun went off, and Simeon groaned.

She struggled to breathe underneath the Doctor's weight.

Matthew whooped.

She looked up at the Doctor whose eyes were still tightly shut.

They opened slowly.

"You okay?" He whispered.

She nodded, "Could you get off of me please."

"Ah-yeah," he said, sitting up.

Clara coughed, accepting his hand as he helped her to her feet. She saw Simeon's crumpled form on the ground, and Oswin unconscious in Matthew's arms.

"She's fainted!" He shouted, "The smoke and the strain was too much!"

"Come on Clara," the Doctor said, tugging on her arm.

She looked at Laurie and felt a pang.

"We can't just leave him here. Doctor, he saved me."

With grim determination, the Doctor stooped and lifted the boy into his arms.

As they walked out into the clean air, they were greeted by firemen and policemen, all desperate to know what had gone on in the burning building.

The second the doctor on hand became aware of Oswin's condition, she was being fussed over by a team of paramedics. Laurie's corpse was looked over with pity more than anything.

The Doctor and Clara slipped away without anybody noticing, and when at last Oswin woke up, she only saw empty air where the Doctor and Clara had been.

The woman smiled, feeling a sense of complacency come over her.

All was as it should be.

* * *

Clara soon realized what the pains were.

Contractions. Or more specifically-intense memories of them.

She was finally remembering what happened in Oswin Taylor's life.

"What is it? What's wrong," he'd asked when she had screamed his name not two hours after they'd returned to the TARDIS.

"Labour. Not pleasant. Oswin. Ow," she had breathed, "Oh my god, why did I let that good for nothing Matthew touch me, this is _not nice_ at all."

The baby had been beautiful, and so had the two that followed over the next couple of years. Oswin had a wonderful life after the incident. Matthew was more accepting of her need to know things, and she wasn't a bad mother at all.

A few hours later, when her mind had at last gotten through the mess of memories from that particular life, she fell asleep.

She woke up alone in her room. The dry tear tracks on her cheeks made them stiff.

The sleep had rejuvenated her, replenished her energy, but waking up also meant she had to deal with her feelings for the Doctor, for what had happened to Laurie, and for what she wanted to happen next.

She got out of the bed and stretched a bit, cracking her spine and rotating her neck and shoulders.

Deciding she would rather be in her own clothes than the singed, bloodstained ones from the 1940s, she changed into an outfit she was comfortable in: a red dress, and a leather jacket.

Her legs took her to random places around the TARDIS; she wasn't really thinking about where she wanted to go.

Soon though, she found herself on the route to the control room, and no matter how many times she turned around she always found herself close to that room.

"I give up," she muttered.

Hesitantly, she walked in.

"Clara!"

"Doctor," she said, "Hi. Erm... where are you?"

"Right here."

His voice in her ear made her jump.

"Don't do that!" She hissed.

"Sorry!"

His posture was uncertain, his hands to themselves (for once), and his eyes on the ground rather than her.

"I've- I've come to a decision. On whether I'm going to continue traveling with you..., " she said.

He tensed, crossing his arms, "Yeah?"

"I don't want to travel with you."

She may as well have declared her unabashed hatred for him with the look he gave her.

Fixing him with her best 'be patient' look, she continued, "Unless we set rules."

He nodded vigorously.

"O-Kay. Rules. Right..."

She held up her pointer finger, "Number 1: No dismissing me or my ideas, no matter how brilliant you think yours are. Let me rephrase this... I want you to let me finish what I am going to say, and I want you to consider it before dismissing it."

Her second finger went up, "Number 2: I want you to trust me. We need to trust each other."

Her third finger went up, "And number three: let me know if you're not going to come back."

She put special emphasis on the last one.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering whether you or your snogbox made a stupid mistake and decided never to come back, or if you died on one of your adventures without me. If you tell me, I'll find a way to handle it. Trust me."

The Doctor nervously shuffled his feet until he realized that she was waiting for an answer.

"Yes!" He said, "Yes! I promise! No more leaving."

"Without letting me know," she repeated.

He nodded, and looked at her hopefully, "So are you staying?"

Lips turning upward, she smiled, "Yes, Doctor. I am staying."

He laughed aloud, wrapped his arms around her, and spun her around.

She laughed delightedly, and when he put her down she felt so much adrenaline that on impulse she reached up and kissed him lightly.

"It's not going to be easy," she said, remembering Laurie, "But I'm here for you. For as long as I deem necessary."

He stood up straight, blushing lightly, "Didn't you say you had a date next week?"

She shook her head, "Idiot."

"Me?" He asked, shocked.

"Yes you!" She said, "You didn't even let me finish that sentence. I said I had plans. I never said it was a date."

"But..."

She continued with an eye roll, "I had plans with some girlfriends to go to a singles bar in London. Obviously if we had "done the deed", it wouldn't have been very single of me now would it?"

He only looked at her in amazement.

"Take me home chin boy," she said, her smile tinged with only the slightest hint of sadness, "I'm going to pack myself a week's worth of clothes and toiletries; We've got some adventuring to catch up on."

_End._

** A/N: Thank you all so much from reading this story. Special thank you to those who favorited/followed/reviewed. **

**Much love,**

**lifewithdaleks**


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